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THE     DOCTOR'S 
RECREATION    SERIES 


CHARLES  WELLS  MOULTON 

General  Editor 


VOLUME    NINE 


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OF 


77/ z?  Anatomical   Lecture 


THE  SAALFIE 

Chicago 


YORK 


&he  SHRINE  OF 
jESCULAPIUS 

EDITED  BY 

$0wol&  Sotbene 

':  i  V  .      '.,»  i 

1905 

THE  SAALFIELD  PUBLISHING  CO. 

Chicago         AKRON,  O.         New  York 


inwnpw 


Copyright,  1905, 

BY 

THE  SAALFIELD  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


MADE     BY 

THE    WERNER    COMPANY 

AKRON,    OHIO 


r\/t>/ 


CONTENTS 

The  Charnel  House Henry  Vaughan 

Problem  of  Success  for  Young  Men  and  How  to  Solve  It 

George  F.  Shrady,  M.  D. 

Practical  Ethics  of  the  Physician Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  M.  D. 

Notes  of  an  Address  to  Medical  Students Sydney  Dobell 

Miss  Black's  Affinity George  Horton 

Mr.  Dooley  on  the  Practise  of  Medicine Finley  Peter  Dunne 

The    Etiology,    Diagnosis,    and    Treatment    of    the    Prevalent 

Epidemic  of  Quackery George  H.  Gould,  A.  M.,  M.  D. 

According  to  Punch: 

University  of  London — Examination  Papers 

The  Physiology  of  the  London  Medical  Student 

Appropriate  Examination  Papers;  with  Answers 

Rhoderick  at  Surgeon's  Hall Tobias  Smollett 

Diploma  Nos  Universitatas  Santae  Glorvina 

Dr.  Heidegger's  Experiment Nathaniel  Hawthorne 

First  Aid  to  the  Injured W.  G.  Van  Tassel  Sutphen 

Nathan  Bone's  Skeletons Anthony  Kirby  Gill 

Miscellaneous : 

When  Doctors  Agreed 

The  Ghost  of  the  Dissecting  Room 

A  Ride  with  Death 

Modern  Learning  Exemplified 

A  Curiosity  in  Medical  Advertising  Literature 
The  Medical  Student : 

The  Ambulance 

Inverted  Fables 

No  Doubt  of  It 

A  Matter  of  Expense 

Hitchcock's  Tactful  Friend 

Saves  Something 

111  Enough  for  the  Present 

Concerning  Corpuscles 

Many  Operations 

How  Hopkins  was  Soothed 

Why  One  Still  Lived 

The  Everlasting  Controversy 

Returned  the  Fees 

Dying  by  Inches 


431351 


4  CONTENTS 

New  Books  not  Needed 
Surgical  Wit 
Didn't  Know  the  Place 
The  Female  Physician 
At  the  Hospital 
The  Brain  and  Spinal  Cord 
The  Mark  of  a  Lady 
Lines  to  a  Skull 
"Know'd  What  he  Giv'  Him" 
Early  Practise: 

A  Foregone  Conclusion 

Experience  Required 

A  Case  for  Consultation 

Vital  Spots 

A  Medical  Examination 

Indispensable 

Medical  Ignorance 

It  Was  not  Appendicitis 

Mortality  Reduction 

A  Practical  Question 

A  Clever  Diagnosis 

A  Sure  Remedy 

Worries  of  a  Doctor 

A  Beginning 

Encouraging  a  Young  One 

Even  That  Would  Help 

The  King's  Disease 

Reversed 

An  Improvement  Noted 

The  New  Disease 

Timid 

Against  Odds 

A  Thorough  Examination 

Saw  It  Clearly 

Ups  and  Downs 

Blind  Inference 

Her  Affliction 

A  Matter  of  Taste 

Evidence  of  the  Service 

For  a  Young  M.  D. 

Modern  Miracles 

After  the  Medical  Commencement 

Self-Incriminating 

The  Wrong  Kind  of  a  Doctor 

X-Rays. 

Why  he  Prospered 


CONTENTS 

General  Practise: 

Trakeyotomy  Dan 
Imagination 
His  Interpretation 
The  Reason 
Doctors'  Big  Fees 
Prescription  and  Pun 
A  Sure  Cure 
Wise  Invalid 
An  Appeal  for  Speed 
Resigned 
In  Other  Words 
Fitzsimmons'  Doctor 
Short  Tether 
Remarkable  Symptoms 
His  Circulation  all  Right 
Frequent  Doses 
No  Damage  Done 
A  Disease  that  is^  Rare 
Had  Tried  Electricity 
Pulling  Eye  Teeth 
Doctors  Knew  their  Business 
Seeing  Double 
Dead,  but  in  Peril 
Satisfactorily  Arranged 
Two  Kinds  of  Doctors 
Not  to  Last  Long 
Tapped 

Better  than  Medicine 
Writing  too  Much 
Not  Mincing  Matters 
His  Retaliation 
A  Story  of  Horace  Mann 
A  Question  of  Average 
A  Shrewd  Reply 
Nothing  was  Right  There 
A  Complimentary  Notice 
A  Reasonable  Bill 
The  Dental  Student: 
Satisfactory 
Lucky  Tooth 
A  Misunderstanding 
Naturally  Adapted 
Missing  the  Doctor 
The  Six  Hundred 
•Woman  Dentist  Has  No  Mercy 


6  CONTENTS 

The  Student  of  Pharmacy: 
Curing  a  Cold 
Malarial  Pronunciation 
A  Kentucky  Drug  Store 
Easy  to  Prescribe  for 
Wrong  Diagnosis 
A  Mistake 
A  Rare  Drug 
The  Doctor 

Wanted  Two  Bottles  of  Refrain 
The  Drug  Clerk 
Unfortunate  Suggestion 
Just  as  Good 
Beechman's  Pills 
Drug  Store  Coffee 
The  Critical  Spirit 

Her  Debt  of  Gratitude 

Disappointment 

Hair  Restorer 

An  Important  Discovery 

For  A  Hors 

Trade  Names 

A  Confusion  of  Terms 

Collodion 

Ruling  Habit 

Evidence  of  Sagacity 

For  Himself 

Not  to  Blame 

A  Drug  Clerk's  Troubles 

A  Few  Sure  Cures 

Druggist's  Queer  Orders 

The  Druggist's  Revenge 

Repartee 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Page 

The  Anatomical  Lecture Frontispiece 

The  First  Patient 90 

Dr.  Charcot's  Clinic 170 

The  Physical  Examination 241 


PREFACE 

We  claim  for  The  Shrine  of  ./Esculapius  that  it  is 
original  in  conception,  and  unique  in  execution.  It  is  the 
first  serious  publication  in  book  form  intended  as  "A  Recital 
of  Various  Exploits,  Projects,  and  Experiences  of  the 
Medical  Student."  It  will  not  only  interest  the  medical 
student  who  is  at  present  "experiencing"  the  "exploits," 
but  the  old  practitioner  as  well,  who  will  be  glad  to  recall 
many  "projects"  of  his  early  career  here  set  forth. 

In  making  the  selections,  the  editor,  as  usual,  makes 
grateful  acknowledgment  for  courtesies  and  advice  ex- 
tended by  doctors  and  laymen.  He  returns  thanks  for  copy- 
right privileges  to  Harper  and  Brothers,  Houghton, 
Mifflin  and  Company,  The  Century  Company,  George 
Horton,  Finley  Peter  Dunne,  Dr.  George  H.  Gould,  etc. 

OSWOLD   SOTHENE. 

January  26,  1905. 


THE  CHARNEL-HOUSE 

LESS  me !  what  damps  are  here !  how  stiff  an  air ! 
Kelder  of  mists,  a  second  fiat's  care, 
Front'spiece  o'  th'  grave  and  darkness,  a  display 
Of  ruin'd  man,  and  the  disease  of  day, 
Lean,  bloodless  shamble,  where  I  can  descry 
Fragments  of  men,  rags  of  anatomy, 
Corruption's  wardrobe,  the  transplantive  bed 
Of  mankind,  and  th'  exchequer  of  the  dead ! 
How  thou  arrests  my  sense !  how  with  the  sight 
My  winter'd  blood  grows  stiff  to  all  delight! 
Torpedo  to  the  eye !  whose  least  glance  can 
Freeze  our  wild  lusts,  and  rescue  headlong  man. 
Eloquent  silence!  able  to  immure 
An  atheist's  thoughts,  and  blast  an  epicure. 
Were  I  a  Lucian,  Nature  in  this  dress 
Would  make  me  wish  a  Saviour,  and  confess. 

Where  are  you,  shoreless  thoughts,  vast  tenter'd  hope, 

Ambitious  dreams,  aims  of  an  endless  scope, 

Whose  stretch'd  excess  runs  on  a  string  too  high, 

And  on  the  rack  of  self-extension  die? 

Chameleons  of  state,  air-monging  band, 

Whose  breath — like  gunpowder — blows  up  a  land, 

Come  see  your  dissolution,  and  weigh 

What  a  loath'd  nothing  you  shall  be  one  day. 

As  th'  elements  by  circulation  pass 

From  one  to  th'  other,  and  that  which  first  was 

I  so  again,  so  'tis  with  you ;  the  grave 

And  Nature  but  complot ;  what  the  one  gave 

The  other  takes ;  think,  then,  that  in  this  bed 

There  sleep  the  relics  of  as  proud  a  head, 

II 


ia  THE  SHRINE  OF  iESCULAPlUS 

As  stern  and  subtle  as  your  own,  that  hath 

Perform'd,  or  forc'd  as  much,  whose  tempest-wrath 

Hath  level'd  kings  with  slaves,  and  wisely  then 

Calm  these  high  furies,  and  descend  to  men. 

Thus  Cyrus  tam'd  the  Macedon ;  a  tomb 

Check'd  him,  who  thought  the  world  too  straight  a  room. 

Have  I  obey'd  the  powers  of  face, 

A  beauty  able  to  undo  the  race 

Of  easy  man  ?    I  look  but  here,  and  straight 

I  am  inform'd,  the  lovely  counterfeit 

Was  but  a  smoother  clay.    That  famish'd  slave 

Beggar'd  by  wealth,  who  starves  that  he  may  save, 

Brings  hither  but  his  sheet ;  nay,  th'  ostrich-man 

That  feeds  on  steel  and  bullet,  he  that  can 

Outswear  his  lordship,  and  reply  as  tough 

To  a  kind  word,  as  if  his  tongue  were  buff, 

Is  chap-fall'n  here:  worms  without  wit  or  fear 

Defy  him  now ;  Death  hath  disarm'd  the  bear. 

Thus  could  I  run  o'er  all  the  piteous  score 

Of  erring  men,  and  having  done,  meet  more, 

Their  shuffled  wills,  abortive,  vain  intents, 

Fantastic  humors,  perilous  ascents, 

False,  empty  honors,  traitorous  delights, 

And  whatsoe'er  a  blind  conceit  invites ; 

But  these  and  more  which  the  weak  vermins  swell, 

Are  couch'd  in  this  accumulative  cell, 

Which  I  could  scatter ;  but  the  grudging  sun 

Calls  home  his  beams,  and  warns  me  to  be  gone ; 

Day  leaves  me  in  a  double  night,  and  I 

Must  bid  farewell  to  my  sad  library. 

Yet  with  these  notes — Henceforth  with  thought  of  thee 

I'll  season  all  succeeding  jollity, 

Yet  damn  not  mirth,  nor  think  too  much  is  fit ; 

Excess  hath  no  religion,  nor  wit; 

But  should  wild  blood  swell  to  a  lawless  strain, 

One  check  from  thee  shall  channel  it  again. 

Henry  Vaughan. 


PROBLEM  OF  SUCCESS  FOR  YOUNG 
MEN  AND   HOW  TO   SOLVE   IT 

BY 

GEORGE  F.  SHRADY,  M.  D. 


13 


PROBLEM  OF  SUCCESS  FOR  YOUNG  MEN  AND 
HOW  TO  SOLVE  IT 

The  Practise  of  Medicine 


I 


N  this  age  of  strenuous  endeavor,  with  its  armies 
of  well-equipped  workers,  even  ordinary  success 
calls  for  relatively  high  attainments.  In  medicine, 
as  in  every  other  profession,  conspicuous  success 
is  necessarily  limited  to  very  few  aspirants.  Great  oppor- 
tunities are  comparatively  few. 

To  reach  the  high  standard  of  general  excellence  in  the 
medical  profession  is  in  itself  a  most  laudable  ambition. 
Such  talent  as  makes  the  aggregate  sum  of  lasting  and  sub- 
stantial human  progress  is  very  widely  distributed. 

The  real  work  that  is  of  substantial  and  lasting  benefit 
to  the  community  at  large  has  to  be  done  on  a  mediocre  level. 
It  is  just  as  much  to  be  a  common  soldier  in  the  ranks  as 
to  be  a  general  that  leads.  We  cannot  all  be  generals.  If 
you  are  a  good  soldier  in  a  select  crowd,  and  have  a  good 
reputation,  that  is  success  in  itself.  Many  a  man  would 
rather  be  a  private  in  the  7th  Regiment  than  to  be  a  cap- 
tain in  most  others. 

It  was  said  of  a  soldier  who  had  been  in  the  battle  of 
Waterloo  that  when  complimented  on  his  bravery  he  re- 
plied :  "You  see,  there  were  so  many  of  us."  The  honors 
were  widely  distributed,  but  each  man  was  a  host  in  himself. 

We  may  "hitch  our  wagon  to  a  star,"  but  every  star  is 
not  a  shooting  one.  A  good,  ordinary  road  horse  would 
answer  the  purpose  much  better. 

There  are  many  ministers  here  in  good  standing,  doing 
good  work,  but  there  are  only  a  few  celebrated  ones ;  and 
so  with  many  lawyers,  artists,  authors,  and  the  like.    They 


16  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

all  ought  to  be  distinguished,  but  all  do  not  get  their  dues, 
simply  because  the  general  level  is  so  high. 

The  demands  cf  what  may  be  considered  a  general  tal- 
ent are  very  great,  and  the  majority  of  strugglers,  by  force 
of  circumstances,  must  necessarily  be  content  merely  to  add 
to  the  common  stock.  If  we  gain  nothing  more  than  ex- 
perience, it  is  generally  paid  up  stock  for  an  emergency. 
All  opportunity  is  the  reward  of  watchfulness.  Experience, 
no  matter  of  what  kind,  if  it  is  only  weighty  enough,  is 
always  good  ballast  in  a  storm.  If  it  can  take  a  bite  on  the 
wave,  the  rudder  has  a  good  purchase.  Hence,  if  a  rival 
succeeds,  study  his  methods.  It  will  generally  be  found  that 
work,  earnest  work,  and  absorbed  interest  are  at  the  bottom 
of  his  success.  If  a  man  has  an  education  and  is  careful  to 
keep  his  powder  dry,  even  if  he  is  no  better  than  a  ragpicker, 
he  will  be  a  better  judge  of  the  worth  of  his  material  of 
trade  than  the  one  who  picks  up  everything  he  sees. 

When  greatness  is  thrust  upon  a  man  it  is  generally  a 
misfit  outer  garment  that  sooner  or  later  becomes  conspic- 
uously wrinkled  and  shabby  and  has  to  be  cast  aside. 

Grant  wore  an  ordinary  soldier's  blouse  when  he  was 
a  party  to  the  surrender  at  Appomattox. 

The  accidents  of  distinction  are  the  tail  feathers  of  the 
peacock,  useful  for  neither  flying,  walking,  nor  singing. 
When  his  gaudy  fan  is  folded,  it  trails  in  the  dust,  and 
when  expanded,  the  gentlest  wind  throws  the  vain  bird  off 
his  balance. 

Gray  took  twelve  years  to  write  his  "Elegy,"  and  who 
would  not  take  such  time  for  such  a  monument. 

Pay  your  debts  to  time  as  you  go  along,  and  if  nothing 
more  comes  of  it  than  the  performance  of  a  duty,  that  in 
itself  may  be  the  one,  the  main,  and  the  only  opportunity  for 
doing  your  share.  If  each  can  say  he  did  the  best  he  could 
he  has  discharged  his  obligation  to  himself  and  his  work. 

Then,  to  be  always  ready  in  an  emergency  is  what  fre- 
quently wins  the  battle.  Emergencies  come  to  every  one, 
and  the  great  question  is  asked,  "Do  you  dare?"  or  "Will 
you  dare?"    It  is  for  want  of  the  right  kind  of  pluck  some- 


PROBLEM  OF  SUCCESS  17 

times  that  men  miss  the  one  chance  in  their  lives.  The  man, 
the  gun,  the  game,  and  the  aim,  when  in  proper  line,  settle 
many  a  difficult  problem.  The  principle  applies  in  medicine, 
law,  statesmanship,  art,  everything. 

The  man  is,  of  course,  the  essential  element ;  the  gun  is 
his  fitness  for  the  work;  the  aim  is  his  concentration  of 
power ;  and  the  game  is  the  opportunity.  You  get  all  these 
in  combination,  and  something  must  result.  But  if  one 
or  the  other  misses  its  connection,  there  is  an  interrupted 
short  circuit  in  a  man's  life. 

A  little  soubrette  dancer  ventured  to  say  that  it  took 
her  a  whole  year  of  practise,  three  hours  daily,  before  she 
could  learn  to  balance  herself  on  her  toes. 

Emerson,  when  he  walked  out,  had  a  pad  and  pencil  in 
his  pocket,  and  when  a  thought  occurred  to  him,  wherever 
he  happened  to  be,  he  jotted  it  down. 

Burns,  the  bard  of  Scotland,  did  it,  and  the  path  of 
his  plow  was  the  one  to  fame.  Milton,  the  blind  poet,  did  it. 
When  he  woke  up  in  the  night  and  a  thought  occurred  to 
him  he  aroused  his  daughter  to  continue  dictation  for  "Para- 
dise Lost." 

It  is  taking  advantage  of  every  little  opportunity  that 
often  strikes  the  balance  the  right  way.  These  are  the  real 
elements  of  success.  It  is  catching  the  thought  when  it  is 
on  the  wing.     It  seldom  flies  the  same  way  twice. 

This  idea  of  working  for  the  love  of  the  thing  was 
exemplified  in  John  Hunter,  the  founder  of  the  Royal  Col- 
lege of  Surgeons.  He  had  not  a  large  income,  and  was  com- 
pelled to  work  steadily  at  his  practise.  When  absorbed  in 
his  grand  investigations  and  interrupted  by  a  patient,  he 
would  testily  exclaim :  "There  is  that  confounded  guinea 
that  must  be  earned."  He  simply  proved  what  many  others 
have — that  medicine  is  a  grand  profession,  but  a  very  poor 
trade. 

It  is  the  glory  in  the  work,  not  the  mere  pay  that  comes 
with  it.  Pecuniary  success,  in  a  comparative  business  sense, 
is  certainly  not  one  of  the  conspicuous  rewards  for  the 
doctor. 


18  THE  SHRINE  OF  iESCULAPIUS 

Wollaston,  the  great  chemist,  when  he  was  asked  to 
show  his  laboratory,  took  the  man  into  a  closet,  pointed  to  a 
couple  of  tumblers,  a  retort,  and  a  lamp,  and  said :  "This 
is  my  laboratory."  And  yet  he  was  the  greatest  discoverer 
of  his  time.     It  was  the  man  with  the  little  opportunities. 

The  piano  players  and  all  other  great  performers  are 
practising  all  the  time.  There  was  once  a  great  surgeon  in 
Philadelphia  who  was  noted  for  wonderful  expertness  in 
manipulation,  and  he  always  was  seen  working  his  fingers. 
People  thought  he  was  peculiar,  but  he  had  a  purpose  in 
view.  It  was  to  add  little  by  little  to  his  skill  instead  of 
resting  his  hands  in  his  lap. 

The  question  of  business  first  and  pleasure  afterward 
is  like  paying  the  cash  and  knowing  the  exact  account  in 
the  bank.  This  thrift  in  time  is  as  valuable  as  thrift  in 
money  matters.  Content  in  work  is  to  mental  energy  what 
perfect  digestion  is  to  nutrition. 

It  is  the  question  with  the  doctor,  as  with  every  other 
man,  "Am  I  doing  my  best  ?  Is  my  mind  constantly  on  the 
subject — the  aim,  after  all?"  If  so,  by  and  by  the  game, 
such  as  it  is,  will  appear,  and  the  practise  at  the  imaginary 
target  will  serve  its  purpose  when  the  true  conditions  are  in 
line. 

It  is  the  hit-back  also  that  hardens  the  fighter.  The 
man  who  is  to  leap  the  fence  with  his  horse  must  think  only 
of  the  top  bar,  and  not  doubt  the  stability  of  his  seat. 

It  is  a  question  of  being  prepared  and  having  nerve 
enough  to  pull  the  trigger.  The  man,  the  gun,  the  aim, 
and  the  game.  All  in  line  with  simultaneous  action.  He 
must  know  how  to  load  his  gun,  be  sure  of  his  powder,  have 
steadiness  enough  to  draw  the  bead,  and  know  the  difference 
between  a  chipmunk  and  a  bear.  His  learning  must  be  be- 
hind him.     That  gives  him  confidence  of  victory. 

To  succeed  in  the  medical  profession — to  make  a  con- 
spicuous success  in  it — requires  more  real  hard  work  than 
would  be  necessary  in  any  ordinary  business  occupation,  be- 
cause there  are  special  preparations  which  are  necessary: 
the  education  in  the  first  place,  and  a  good  groundwork. 


PROBLEM  OF  SUCCESS  19 

Very  often  the  groundwork  is  covered  up  in  the  very  foun- 
dation of  the  man ;  you  do  not  see  his  work  at  all  until  it  is 
manifested  afterward  by  the  superstructure  that  is  so  pa- 
tiently and  laboriously  placed  upon  it. 

When  it  comes  down  to  the  actual  qualifications  neces- 
sary to  success  in  medicine,  a  young  man  has  a  pretty  hard 
time  of  it,  because  the  standard  of  requirements  is  so  high, 
the  time  for  waiting  is  so  long,  and  the  competition  is  so 
strong  that  he  seldom  gets  a  good  foothold  in  his  profession 
before  he  is  thirty-five  or  forty  years  of  age. 

Then,  too,  there  are  certain  legal  requirements  that 
have  to  be  met.  He  not  only  must  have  his  preliminary 
education  that  has  to  be  passed  on  by  the  regents  of  the 
university  before  he  is  permitted  to  take  his  medical  course, 
but  after  that  the  law  prescribes  that  he  shall  take  a  four 
years'  course  of  special  medical  preparation,  and  very  often 
if  he  wishes  to  equip  himself  well,  he  has  to  supplement 
it  with  a  hospital  course  of  two  years  more.  Even  then  he 
is  not  qualified  for  practise  until  he  has  passed  his  State 
examination  for  a  legal  license. 

Altogether  that  takes  him  until  he  is  twenty  years  old 
at  least  before  he  gets  his  preliminary  training.  Even  if 
he  starts  thus  early  he  is  twenty-six  or  twenty-eight  before 
he  can  graduate  from  a  medical  college ;  thus  a  young  man 
is  oftentimes  past  thirty  or  thirty-five  years  of  age  before  he 
commences  to  practise.  Besides  this  he  has  to  work  usually 
for  five  years  before  he  can  support  himself  even  as  a  single 
man,  especially  if  he  begins  his  work  in  a  city. 

The  present  standard  of  requirements  in  the  medical 
profession  is  probably  higher  than  that  in  any  of  the  other 
learned  professions,  such  as  theology  or  law.  Compared 
with  the  lawyer  or  minister,  a  young  doctor  has  relatively 
a  harder  time,  because  he  has  to  support  himself  from  the 
start. 

A  lawyer  can  go  into  an  office  and  act  as  clerk  while  he 
is  reading  law,  and  as  soon  as  he  is  admitted  to  the  bar  he 
can  begin  to  practise  in  a  small  way  until  he  is  competent 
to  take  cases  on  his  own  account. 


20  THE  SHRINE  OF  iESCULAPIUS 

A  young  minister,  or  ordained  priest,  has  an  oppor- 
tunity to  get  a  charge  at  once,  as  soon  as  he  graduates  from 
the  theological  seminary,  and  that  gives  him  his  house  fur- 
nished and  rent  free,  and  although  the  salary  is  usually 
small,  he  is  sure  of  a  living  much  better  than  a  young  doc- 
tor can  hope  for. 

A  man  to  succeed  in  the  medical  profession  must  make 
up  his  mind  that  he  is  not  working  for  the  mere  sake  of 
money,  but  for  the  real  pleasure  of  the  work,  that  which 
centers  in  the  amelioration  of  suffering  and  the  saving  of 
human  life.  Mere  money  can  never  pay  for  such  service. 
A  doctor's  bill  is  generally  the  last  one  that  is  paid.  It  is 
a  well-recognized  fact  that  a  great  deal  of  valuable  service 
is  given  away  by  the  doctor  without  getting  its  equivalent. 

Then  the  doctor  has  a  great  deal  of  competition,  not 
only  in  his  own  profession,  where  everybody  is  equipped 
for  the  race  and  each  one  striving  to  forge  ahead  with  all 
the  stimulus  of  a  great  reputation  and  fame  to  gain,  but 
besides  that  he  has  the  countless  medical  charities  to  con- 
tend against ;  that  is  to  say,  he  is  not  in  a  position  to  take 
up  the  many  accident  and  emergency  cases  which  the  prac- 
titioner had  in  former  days. 

Human  charity  is  a  God-like  attribute,  but  it  is  grossly 
abused  in  its  practise.  Look  at  the  large  dispensaries  and 
hospitals  in  this  city  to-day,  and  the  habit  that  well-to-do 
people  have  of  indulging  in  a  doctor's  free  and  willing  serv- 
ice for  charity,  thereby  cheating  him  of  his  legitimate  fees. 
The  purpose  of  these  charitable  institutions  for  the  really 
poor  is  not  served,  because  in  most  cases  the  people  are  not 
worthy  objects  from  a  charitable  standpoint. 

In  that  respect  the  doctor  in  the  country  has  a  much 
better  chance  than  the  one  in  the  city,  who  has  to  contend 
with  all  these  handicaps.  The  rural  practitioner,  although 
he  may  attend  a  great  many  poor  people  for  nothing,  out  of 
pure  charity,  makes  in  the  aggregate  a  great  deal  more  and 
gets  more  returns  than  the  metropolitan  doctor  in  the  city 
who  is  eating  up  his  income  in  large  rentals  and  other  nee- 


PROBLEM  OF  SUCCESS  21 

essary  expenses  for  the  sake  of  being  in  a  respectable  neigh- 
borhood. 

The  question  is  often  raised,  should  a  young  physician 
who  believes  that  he  has  a  special  liking  of  surgery,  for  in- 
stance, start  in  a  general  practise,  or  should  he  from  the 
very  beginning  devote  all  his  time  and  energy  to  this  special 
line  of  work? 

The  young  physician  who  intends  to  become  a  specialist 
should  most  certainly  start  in  general  practise,  because  the 
proper  foundation  for  special  work  is  a  broad  and  general 
knowledge  of  all  the  commoner  diseases.  The  best  special- 
ists are  those  who  have  made  it  the  necessity  or  outgrowth 
of  ordinary  practise,  and  demonstrated  their  fitness  for 
those  special  lines  by  the  sure  foundation  which  they  have 
built. 

All  specialism  in  the  abstract  tends  to  narrow  effort  in 
one  particular  line.  The  legitimate  growth  of  specialism  is 
out  of  general  practise.  Of  course,  a  man  must  understand 
all  about  the  human  system  before  he  begins  to  treat  even 
a  part  of  it.  He  is  bound  to  be  a  better  surgeon  or  other 
specialist  if  he  has  a  greater  practical  knowledge  of  the 
general  ailments  of  the  body,  and  he  will  not  get  that  as  a 
rule  unless  he  goes  first  into  general  practise.  The  founda- 
tion laid  by  a  student  in  hospital  service  is  not  sufficient  prep- 
aration for  the  practise  of  surgery  or  other  specialty,  be- 
cause the  time  allotted  is  too  short  for  the  purpose.  If  he 
claims  the  skill  before  he  is  sufficiently  prepared  he  is  apt  to 
be  more  of  an  advocate  than  he  is  a  judge  of  the  efficacy  of 
remedial  measures. 

The  judicial  mind  must  be  broad  and  weigh  both  sides, 
and  a  man  should  certainly  have  that  judicial  stamp  in 
adopting  a  profession  in  which  human  happiness  and  human 
life  are  at  stake.  The  man  who  thinks  of  nothing  else  but 
an  operation  from  its  abstract  standpoint  is  not  always 
biased  on  the  safe  side. 

The  whole  sum  and  substance  of  it  is  that  the  young 
medical  man  has  a  very  hard  time  of  it. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  good 


23  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS. 

talent  around,  but  it  is  so  distributed  that  it  is  very  hard  to 
make  a  conspicuous  success  in  any  line  of  medical  work — 
to  make  it  distinctive  by  itself.  Under  present  conditions 
the  country  is  very  well  supplied  with  medical  talent  every- 
where— in  the  rural  districts  as  well  as  in  the  city.  There 
is  so  much  average  talent  that  seems  to  fill  the  bill  that  the 
necessity  of  having  extra  talent  is  not  so  apparent.  It  is 
because  of  such  a  high  grade  of  men  who  have  such  high 
grade  talent  that  there  is  not  much  chance  of  achieving 
exceptional  success  save  by  some  extraordinary  circum- 
stance. It  is  like  a  horse  race  where  the  horses  are  all  going 
so  fast  that  it  does  not  seem  that  their  average  speed  could 
be  increased  unless  they  aimed  to  fly. 

Now  and  then  a  great  discovery  is  made,  and  it  is  so 
quickly  applied  that  it  becomes  common  property  almost  at 
once.  Take  the  great  discoveries  of  recent  years :  in  almost 
every  case  there  are  five  or  six  men  engaged  in  the  same 
line  of  thought,  and  they  are  all  claiming  the  same  discovery 
at  the  same  time. 

All  this  proves  that  no  man  should  go  into  medicine 
inconsiderately.  He  should  certainly  count  the  cost  and 
weigh  it  very  carefully,  and  be  able  to  say:  "This  is  the 
profession  of  my  choice,"  to  do  or  die,  "I  enter  it  for  the 
love  of  the  thing." 

Such  a  man  is  going  to  make  a  good  practitioner,  and 
he  will  succeed  in  the  good  and  ordinary  way.  He  will 
keep  his  eye  on  the  gun  all  the  time,  and  will  not  let  any 
ordinary  game  escape  him.  He  has  his  heart  in  the  work, 
and  everything  depends  on  that,  no  matter  what  hindrances 
there  may  be  on  the  outside. 

The  poet  may  win  his  laurels,  the  lawyer  his  reputa- 
tion, the  painter  his  fame,  but  this  man  must  say :  "I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  these.  This  is  my  life  work."  Let  him 
be  contented  as  he  goes  along ;  be  contented  in  the  work. 

There  are  just  as  many  men  who  are  born  physicians, 
and  with  all  the  good  qualities  that  make  up  a  good  man  in 
that  profession,  as  there  are  artists  or  poets  or  anything 
else.    They  have  a  natural  instinct  for  it. 


PROBLEM  OF  SUCCESS  23 

The  main  thing  is  that  the  man  must  love  his  profes- 
sion. It  is  this  that  gives  him  his  true  courage  and  his 
greatest  rewards.  His  great  success  is  in  the  quiet,  humble 
performance  of  his  duty,  such  as  it  b.  His  deeds  are  none 
the  less  valorous  if  not  trumpeted  by  fame,  but  on  other 
fields  they  would  win  many  a  decoration.  It  is  the  rank  and 
file  that  after  all  settles  the  battle. 

No  matter  how  hard  one  may  work  he  cannot  get  too 
much  preparation.  No  house  that  is  built  on  stilts  can  last 
for  any  length  of  time,  and  it  is  very  risky  business  to  tuck 
in  a  foundation  afterward.  If  a  man  can  put  in  all  the  years 
he  has  until  he  is  thirty  in  post-graduate  and  hospital  study 
he  will  not  lose  much  time  in  the  end.  What  appears  to  be 
lost  in  study  will  be  gained  by  the  ability  to  work  and  catch 
up  afterward.  He  cannot  be  too  well  prepared,  because  it 
is  nothing  but  a  life  of  study  all  the  way  through. 

Of  course,  every  man  has  opportunities  of  some  sort, 
but  the  conspicuous  opportunities  are  very  few,  else  we 
would  all  be  generals,  emperors,  or  kings.  It  is  the  great 
mediocre  necessities  that  bring  out  the  useful  talent  in  a 
man — the  man  who  takes  his  position  in  the  rank  and  file 
and  works. 

The  successful  man  owes  more  to  real  work,  hard  work, 
every  time  and  all  the  time,  than  to  anything  else. 

Every  man  when  he  goes  into  a  profession  necessarily 
aims  high,  but  he  should  be  contented  for  the  time  at  least 
in  being  one  of  the  great  crowd. 

What  is  really  of  the  most  benefit  to  the  race,  as  a 
whole,  must  always  be  within  the  reach  of  the  majority  of 
its  benefactors. 


PRACTICAL  ETHICS  OF  THE 
PHYSICIAN 

BY 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES,  M.  D. 


25 


PRACTICAL  ETHICS  OF  THE  PHYSICIAN 

Delivered*  to  the  Medical  Graduates  of  the   Harvard  Univer- 
sity, at  the  Annual  Commencement,  Wednesday,  March  10,  1858. 


G 


ENTLEMEN  OF  THE  GRADUATING  CLASS  I 

It  is  my  grateful  duty  to  address  to  you  a  few- 
words  in  the  name  of  the  Medical  Faculty,  under 
the  auspices  of  which  you  have  just  entered  the 
Medical  Profession.  In  their  name  I  welcome  you  to  the 
labors,  the  obligations,  the  honors,  and  the  rewards  which,  if 
you  are  faithful,  you  may  look  for  in  your  chosen  calling.  In 
their  name  I  offer  you  the  hand  of  fellowship,  and  call  you 
henceforth  brothers.  These  elder  brethren  of  the  same  great 
family  repeat  to  you  the  words  of  welcome.  The  wide  com- 
munity of  practitioners  receives  you  in  full  communion  from 
this  moment.  You  are  enrolled  hereafter  on  that  long  list  of 
the  Healers  of  Men,  which  stretches  back  unbroken  to  the 
days  of  Heroes  and  Demigods,  until  its  earliest  traditions 
blend  with  the  story  of  the  brightest  of  the  ancient  Divini- 
ties. 

Once  Medicine?  Doctor,  always  Doctor  Medicine?.  You 
can  unfrock  a  clergyman  and  unwed  a  husband,  but  you 
can  never  put  off  the  title  you  have  just  won.  Trusting  that 
you  will  always  cling  to  it,  as  it  will  cling  to  you,  I  shall 
venture  to  offer  a  few  hints  which  you  may  find  of  use  in 
your  professional  career. 

The  first  counsel  I  would  offer  is  this:  Form  a  dis- 
tinct plan  for  life,  including  duties  to  fulfil,  virtues  to  prac- 
tise, powers  to  develop,  knowledge  to  attain,  graces  to  ac- 
quire. Circumstances  may  change  your  plan,  experience  may 
show  that  it  requires  modification,  but  start  with  it  as  com- 
plete as  if  the  performance  were  sure  to  be  the  exact  copy  of 
the  programme.  If  you  reject  this  first  piece  of  advice,  I  am 

^Valedictory  Address. 

27 


28  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS. 

afraid  nothing  else  I  can  say  will  be  of  service.  Some  weak- 
ness of  mind  or  of  moral  purpose  can  alone  account  for  your 
trusting  to  impulse  and  circumstances.  Nothing  else  goes 
on  well  without  a  plan ;  neither  a  game  of  chess,  nor  a  cam- 
paign, nor  a  manufacturing  or  commercial  enterprize;  and 
do  you  think  that  you  can  play  this  game  of  life,  that  you 
can  fight  this  desperate  battle,  that  you  can  organize  this 
mighty  enterprize,  without  sitting  down  to  count  the  cost 
and  fix  the  principles  of  action  by  which  you  are  to  be 
governed  ? 

It  is  not  likely  that  any  of  you  will  deliberately  lay 
down  a  course  of  action  pointing  to  a  low  end,  to  be  reached 
by  ignoble  means.  But  keep  a  few  noble  models  before  you. 
For  faithful  life-long  study  of  science  you  will  find  no  better 
example  than  John  Hunter,  never  satisfied  until  he  had  the 
pericardium  of  Nature  open  and  her  heart  throbbing  naked 
in  his  hand.  For  calm,  large,  illuminated,  philosophical 
intellect,  hallowed  by  every  exalted  trait  of  character,  you 
will  look  in  vain  for  a  more  perfect  pattern  than  Haller. 
But  ask  your  seniors  who  is  their  living  model,  and  if  they 
all  give  you  the  same  name,  then  ask  them  why  he  is  thus 
honored,  and  their  answers  will  go  far  toward  furnishing 
the  outline  of  that  course  I  would  hope  you  may  lay  down 
and  follow. 

Let  us  look,  in  the  very  brief  space  at  our  disposal,  at 
some  of  those  larger  and  lesser  rules  which  might  be  sup- 
posed to  enter  as  elements  into  the  plan  of  a  physician's  life. 

Duty  draws  the  great  circle  which  includes  all  else 
within  it.  Of  your  responsibility  to  the  Head  Physician 
of  this  vast  planetary  ambulance  or  traveling  hospital  which 
we  call  Earth,  I  need  say  little.  We  reach  the  Creator 
chiefly  through  his  creatures.  Whoso  gave  the  cup  of  cold 
water  to  the  disciple  gave  it  to  the  Master ;  whoso  received 
that  Master  received  the  Infinite  Father  who  sent  him.  If 
performed  in  the  right  spirit,  there  is  no  higher  worship 
than  the  unpurchased  service  of  the  medical  priesthood. 
The  sick  man's  faltered  blessing  reaches  heaven  through  the 


PRACTICAL  ETHICS  OF  THE  PHYSICIAN  29 

battered  roof  of  his  hovel  before  the  Te  Deum  that  rever- 
berates in  vast  cathedrals. 

Your  duty  as  physicians  involves  the  practise  of  every 
virtue  and  the  shunning  of  every  vice.  But  there  are  certain 
virtues  and  graces  of  preeminent  necessity  to  the  physician 
and  certain  vices  and  minor  faults  against  which  he  must 
be  particularly  guarded. 

And  first,  of  truth.  Lying  is  the  great  temptation  to 
which  physicians  are  exposed.  Clergymen  are  expected  to 
tell  such  portions  of  truth  as  they  think  will  be  useful. 
Their  danger  is  the  supprcssio  veri,  rather  than  direct  false- 
hood. Lawyers  stand  in  professional  and  technical  relations 
to  veracity.  Thus,  the  clerk  swears  a  witness  to  tell  the 
truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth.  The 
lawyer  is  expected  to  get  out  of  the  witness  not  exactly  the 
truth,  but  a  portion  of  the  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth — 
which  suits  him.  The  fact  that  there  are  two  lawyers  pulling 
at  the  witness  in  different  directions,  makes  it  little  better; 
the  horses  pulled  different  ways  in  that  frightful  old  pun- 
ishment of  tearing  men  to  pieces ;  so  much  the  worse  for  the 
man.  But  this  is  an  understood  thing,  and  we  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  believe  a  lawyer — outside  of  the  court-room. 

The  physician,  however,  is  not  provided  with  a  special 
license  to  say  the  thing  which  is  not.  He  is  expected  to 
know  the  truth,  and  to  be  ready  to  tell  it.  Yet  nothing  is 
harder  than  for  him  always  to  do  it.  Whenever  he  makes 
an  unnecessary  visit,  he  tells  a  lie.  Whenever  he  writes  an 
unnecessary  prescription,  he  tells  a  lie.  It  is  audibly  whis- 
pered that  some  of  the  "general  practitioners,"  as  they  are 
called  in  England,  who  make  their  profit  on  the  medicines 
they  dispense,  are  too  fond  of  giving  those  complicated  mix- 
tures which  can  be  charged  at  a  pleasing  figure  in  their 
accounts.  It  would  be  better  if  the  patient  were  allowed  a 
certain  discount  from  his  bill  for  every  dose  he  took,  just 
as  children  are  compensated  by  their  parents  for  swallowing 
hideous  medical  draughts. 

All  false  pretences  whatsoever,  acted  or  spoken;  all 
superficial  diagnoses,  where  the  practitioner  does  not  know 


3o  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

what  he  knows,  or,  still  worse,  knows  that  he  does  not 
know;  all  unwarranted  prognoses  and  promises  of  cure; 
all  claiming  for  treatment  that  which  may  have  been  owing 
to  Nature  only;  all  shallow  excuses  for  the  results  of  bad 
practise,  are  lies  and  nothing  else. 

There  is  one  safe  rule  which  I  will  venture  to  lay  down 
for  your  guide  in  every  professional  act,  involving  the  im- 
mediate relation  with  the  object  of  your  care ;  so  plain  that 
it  may  be  sneered  at  as  a  truism,  but  so  difficult  to  follow 
that  he  who  has  never  broken  it  deserves  canonizing  better 
than  many  saints  in  the  calendar :  A  physician's  first  duty 
is  to  his  patient;  his  second  only,  to  himself. 

All  quackery  reverses  this  principle  as  its  fundamental 
axiom.  Every  practitioner  who  reverses  it  is  a  quack.  A 
man  who  follows  it  may  be  ignorant,  but  his  ignorance  will 
often  be  safer  than  a  selfish  man's  knowledge. 

You  will  find  that  this  principle  will  not  only  keep  you 
in  the  great  highway  of  truth,  but  that  if  it  is  ever  a  question 
whether  you  must  leave  that  broad  path,  it  will  serve  you  as 
a  guide.  A  lie  is  a  deadly  poison.  You  have  no  right  to 
give  it  in  large  or  small  doses  for  any  selfish  purpose  con- 
nected with  your  profession,  any  more  than  for  other  selfish 
objects.  But  as  you  administer  arsenic  or  strychnia  in 
certain  cases,  without  blame ;  nay,  as  it  may  be  your  duty 
to  give  them  to  a  patient ;  are  there  not  also  cases  in  which 
the  moral  poison  of  deceit  is  rightly  employed  for  a  patient's 
welfare?  So  many  noble-hearted  and  conscientious  per- 
sons have  scruples  about  any  infraction  of  the  absolute  rule 
of  truth,  that  I  am  willing  briefly  to  discuss  and  illustrate  a 
question  which  will  often  be  presented  to  you  hereafter. 

Truth  in  the  abstract  is  perhaps  made  too  much  of  as 
compared  to  certain  other  laws  established  by  as  high  au- 
thority. If  the  Creator  made  the  tree-toad  so  like  the  moss- 
covered  bark  to  which  it  clings,  and  the  larva  of  a  sphinx 
so  closely  resembling  the  elm-leaf  on  which  it  lies,  and  that 
other  larva  so  exquisitely  like  a  broken  twig,  not  only  in 
color,  but  in  the  angle  at  which  it  stands  from  the  branch 
to  which  it  holds,  with  the  obvious  end  of  deceiving  their 


PRACTICAL  ETHICS  OF  THE  PHYSICIAN  31 

natural  enemies,  are  not  these  examples  which  man  may 
follow?  The  Tibboo,  when  he  sees  his  enemy  in  the  dis- 
tance, shrinks  into  a  motionless  heap,  trusting  that  he  may 
be  taken  for  a  lump  of  black  basalt,  such  as  is  frequently 
met  with  in  his  native  desert.  The  Australian,  following  the 
same  instinct,  crouches  in  such  form  that  he  may  be  taken 
for  one  of  the  burnt  stumps  common  in  his  forest  region. 
Are  they  not  right  in  deceiving,  or  lying,  to  save  their  lives  ? 
or  would  a  Christian  missionary  forbid  their  saving  them- 
selves by  such  a  trick?  If  an  English  lady  were  chased  by  a 
gang  of  murdering  and  worse  than  murdering  Sepoys,  would 
she  not  have  a  right  to  cheat  their  pursuit  by  covering  her- 
self with  leaves,  so  as  to  be  taken  for  a  heap  of  them  ?  If 
you  were  starving  on  a  wreck,  would  you  die  of  hunger 
rather  than  cheat  a  fish  out  of  the  water  by  an  artificial  bait? 
If  a  schoolhouse  were  on  fire,  would  you  get  the  children 
quietly  down  stairs  under  any  convenient  pretense,  or  tell 
them  the  precise  truth,  and  so  have  a  rush  and  a  score  or  two 
of  them  crushed  to  death  in  five  minutes? 

These  extreme  cases  test  the  question  of  the  absolute 
inviolability  of  truth.  It  seems  to  me  that  no  one  virtue 
can  be  allowed  to  exclude  all  others,  with  which  in  this 
mortal  state  it  may  sometimes  stand  in  opposition.  Abso- 
lute justice  must  be  tempered  by  mercy ;  absolute  truth,  by 
the  law  of  self-preservation,  by  the  harmless  deceits  of 
courtesy,  by  the  excursions  of  the  imaginative  faculty,  by 
the  exigencies  of  human  frailty,  which  cannot  always  bear 
the  truth  in  health,  still  less  in  disease. 

Truth  is  the  breath  of  life  to  human  society.  It  is  the 
food  of  the  immortal  spirit.  Yet  a  single  word  of  it  may 
kill  a  man  as  suddenly  as  a  drop  of  prussic  acid.  An  old 
gentleman  was  sitting  at  table  when  the  news  that  Napo- 
leon had  returned  from  Elba  was  told  him.  He  started  up, 
repeated  a  line  from  a  French  play,  which  may  thus  be 
Englished, — 

The  fatal  secret  is  at  length  revealed, 
and  fell  senseless  in  apoplexy.  You  remember  the  story 


32  THE  SHRINE  OF  /ESCULAPIUS 

of  the  old  man  who  expired  on  hearing  that  his  sons  were 
crowned  at  the  Olympic  games.  A  worthy  inhabitant  of  a 
village  of  New  Hampshire  fell  dead  on  hearing  that  he  was 
chosen  town  clerk. 

I  think  the  physician  may,  in  extreme  cases,  deal  with 
truth  as  he  does  with  food,  for  the  sake  of  his  patient's 
welfare  or  existence.  He  may  partly  or  wholly  with- 
hold it,  or,  under  certain  circumstances,  medicate  it  with  the 
deadly  poison  of  honest  fraud.  He  must  often  look  the 
cheerfulness  he  cannot  feel,  and  encourage  the  hope  he  can- 
not confidently  share.  He  must  sometimes  conceal  and 
sometimes  disguise  a  truth  which  it  would  be  perilous  or 
fatal  to  speak  out. 

I  will  tell  you  two  stories  to  fix  these  remarks  in  your 
memory.  When  I  was  a  boy,  a  grim  old  doctor  in  a  neigh- 
boring town  was  struck  down  and  crushed  by  a  loaded 
sledge.  He  got  up,  staggered  a  few  paces,  fell,  and  died. 
He  had  been  in  attendance  upon  an  ancient  lady,  a  connec- 
tion of  my  own,  who  at  that  moment  was  lying  in  a  most 
critical  condition.  The  news  of  the  accident  reached  her, 
but  not  its  fatal  character.  Presently  the  minister  of  the 
parish  came  in,  and  a  brief  conversation  like  this  followed: 
"Is  the  Doctor  badly  hurt?"  "Yes ;  badly."  "Does  he  suf- 
fer much?"  "He  does  not;  he  is  easy."  And  so  the  old 
gentlewoman  blessed  God  and  went  off  to  sleep  ;  to  learn  the 
whole  story  at  a  fitter  and  safer  moment.  I  know  the  min- 
ister was  a  man  of  truth,  and  I  think  he  showed  himself 
in  this  instance  a  man  of  wisdom. 

Of  the  great  caution  with  which  truth  must  often  be 
handled,  I  cannot  give  you  a  better  illustration  than  the 
following  from  my  own  experience.  A  young  man,  accom- 
panied by  his  young  wife,  came  from  a  distant  place,  and 
sent  for  me  to  see  him  at  his  hotel.  He  wanted  his  chest 
examined,  he  told  me.  Did  he  wish  to  be  informed  of  what 
I  might  discover?  He  did.  I  made  the  ante-mortem  au- 
topsy desired.  Tubercles ;  cavities ;  disease  in  full  blast ; 
death  waiting  at  the  door.  I  did  not  say  this,  of  course,  but 
waited  for  his  question.     "Are  there  any  tubercles?"  he 


PRACTICAL  ETHICS  OF  THE  PHYSICIAN  33 

asked  presently.  "Yes ;  there  are."  There  was  silence  for 
a  brief  space,  and  then,  like  Esau,  he  lifted  up  his  voice  and 
wept;  he  cried  with  a  great  and  exceeding  bitter  cry,  and 
then  the  twain,  husband  and  wife,  with  loud  ululation  and 
passionate  wringing  of  hands,  shrieked  in  wild  chorus  like 
the  keeners  of  an  Irish  funeral,  and  would  not  be  soothed  or 
comforted.  The  fool!  He  had  brought  a  letter  from  his 
physician,  warning  me  not  to  give  an  opinion  to  the  patient 
himself,  but  write  it  to  him,  the  medical  adviser,  and  this 
letter  the  patient  had  kept  back,  determined  to  have  my 
opinion  from  my  own  lips,  not  doubting  that  it  would  be 
favorable.  In  six  weeks  he  was  dead,  and  I  never  questioned 
that  his  own  folly  and  my  telling  him  the  naked  truth  killed 
him  before  his  time. 

If  the  physician,  then,  is  ever  authorized  to  tamper  with 
truth  for  the  good  of  those  whose  lives  are  intrusted  to 
him,  you  see  how  his  moral  sense  may  become  endangered. 
Plain  speaking,  with  plenty  of  discreet  silence,  is  the  rule ; 
but  read  the  story  of  the  wife  of  Caecinna  Paetus,  with  her 
sick  husband  and  dead  child,  in  the  letters  of  Pliny  the 
Younger  (Lib.  ill.  xvi.)  and  that  of  good  King  David's 
faithful  wife  Michal,  how  she  cheated  Saul's  cut-throats 
(1  Samuel  xix.  13),  before  you  proclaim  that  homicide  is 
always  better  than  vericide. 

If  you  can  avoid  this  most  easily  besetting  sin  of  false- 
hood to  which  your  profession  offers  such  peculiar  tempta- 
tions and  for  which  it  affords  such  facilities,  I  can  hardly 
fear  that  the  closely  related  virtues  which  cling  to  truth, 
honesty,  and  fidelity  to  those  who  trust  you,  will  be  wanting 
to  your  character. 

That  you  must  be  temperate,  so  that  you  can  be  masters 
of  your  faculties  at  all  times ;  that  you  must  be  pure,  so  that 
you  shall  pass  the  sacred  barriers  of  the  family  circle,  open 
to  you  as  to  none  other  of  all  the  outside  world,  without 
polluting  its  sanctuary  by  your  presence,  it  is,  I  think,  need- 
less for  me  to  urge. 

Charity  is  the  eminent  virtue  of  the  medical  profession. 
Show  me  the  garret  or  the  cellar  which  its  messengers  do  not 


34  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

penetrate;  tell  me  of  the  pestilence  which  its  heroes  have 
not  braved  in  their  errands  of  mercy ;  name  to  me  the  young 
practitioner  who  is  not  ready  to  be  the  servant  of  servants  in 
the  cause  of  humanity,  or  the  old  one  whose  counsel  is  not 
ready  for  him  in  his  perplexities,  and  I  will  expatiate  upon 
the  claims  of  a  virtue  which  I  am  content  to  leave  you  to 
learn  from  those  who  have  gone  before  you,  and  whose  foot- 
prints you  will  find  in  the  path  to  every  haunt  of  stricken 
humanity. 

But  there  are  lesser  virtues,  with  their  corresponding 
failings,  which  will  bear  a  few  words  of  counsel. 

First,  then,  of  that  honorable  reserve  with  reference 
to  the  history  of  his  patient,  which  should  belong  to  every 
practitioner.  No  high-minded  or  even  well-bred  man  can 
ever  forget  it;  yet  men  who  might  be  supposed  both  high- 
minded  and  well-bred  have  been  known  habitually  to  violate 
its  sacred  law.  As  a  breach  of  trust,  it  demands  the  sternest 
sentence  which  can  be  pronounced  on  the  offense  of  a  faith- 
less agent.  As  a  mark  of  vanity  and  egotism,  there  is 
nothing  more  characteristic  than  to  be  always  babbling  about 
one's  patients,  and  nothing  brings  a  man  an  ampler  return 
of  contempt  among  his  fellows.  But  as  this  kind  of  talk  is 
often  intended  to  prove  a  man's  responsibility  by  showing 
that  he  attends  rich  or  great  people,  and  as  this  implies 
that  a  medical  man  needs  some  contact  of  the  kind  to  give 
him  position,  it  breaks  the  next  rule  I  shall  give  you,  and 
must  be  stigmatized  as  leze-majesty  toward  the  Divine  Art 
of  Healing. 

This  next  rule  I  proclaim  in  no  hesitating  accents: 
Respect  your  own  profession!  If  Sir  Astley  Cooper  was 
ever  called  to  let  off  the  impure  ichor  from  the  bloated  limbs 
of  George  the  Fourth,  it  was  the  King  who  was  honored  by 
the  visit,  and  not  the  Surgeon.  If  you  do  not  feel  as  you 
cross  the  millionaire's  threshold  that  your  Art  is  nobler  than 
his  palace,  the  footman  who  lets  you  in  is  your  fitting  com- 
panion, and  not  his  master.  Respect  your  profession,  and 
you  will  not  chatter  about  your  "patrons,"  thinking  to  gild 
yourselves  by  rubbing  against  wealth  and  splendor.     Be  a 


PRACTICAL  ETHICS  OF  THE  PHYSICIAN  35 

little  proud, — it  will  not  hurt  you ;  and  remember  that  it  de- 
pends on  how  the  profession  bears  itself  whether  its  mem- 
bers are  the  peers  of  the  highest,  or  the  barely  tolerated 
operatives  of  society,  like  those  Egyptian  dissectors,  hired  to 
use  their  ignoble  implements,  and  then  chased   from  the 
house  where  they  had  exercised  their  craft,  followed  by 
curses  and   volleys   of  stones.     The  Father  of  your  Art 
treated  with  a  Monarch  as  his  equal.     But  the  Barber-Sur- 
geons' Hall  is  still  standing  in  London.     You  may  hold 
yourselves  fit  for  the  palaces  of  princes,  or  you  may  creep 
back  to  the  Hall  of  the  Barber-Surgeons,  just  as  you  like. 
Richard  Wiseman,  who  believed  that  a  rotten  old  king  with 
the  corona  veneris  encircling  his  forehead  with  its  copper 
diadem,  could  cure  scrofula  by  laying  his  finger  on  its  sub- 
jects—Richard Wiseman,  one  of  the  lights  of  the  profession 
in  his  time,  spoke  about  giving  his  patients  over  to  his 
"servants"  to  be  dressed  after  an  operation.     We  do  not 
count  the  young  physician  or  the  medical  student  as  of 
menial  condition,  though  in  the  noble  humility  of  science 
to  which  all  things  are  clean,  or  of  that  "entire  affection" 
which,  as  Spencer  tells  us,  "hath  nicer  hands,"  they  stoop  to 
offices  which  the  white-gloved  waiter  would  shrink  from 
performing.    It  is  not  here,  certainly,  where  John  Brooks— 
not  without  urgent  solicitation  from  lips  which  still  retain 
their  impassioned  energy— was  taken  from  his  quiet  country 
rides,  to  hold  the  helm  of  our  Imperial  State;  not  here, 
where  Joseph  Warren  left  the  bedside  of  his  patients  to  fall 
on  the  smoking  breastwork  of  yonder  summit,  dragging  with 
him,  as  he  fell,  the  curtain  that  hung  before  the  grandest 
drama  ever  acted  on  the  stage  of  time,— not  here  that  the 
Healer  of  Men  is  to  be  looked  down  upon  from  any  pedestal 
of  power  or  opulence! 

If  you  respect  your  profession  as  you  ought,  you  will 
respect  all  honorable  practitioners  in  this  honored  calling. 
And  respecting  them  and  yourselves,  you  will  beware  of  all 
degrading  jealousies,  and  despise  every  unfair  art  which 
may  promise  to  raise  you  at  the  expense  of  a  rival.  How 
hard  it  is  not  to  undervalue  those  who  are  hotly  competing 


36  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

with  us  for  the  prizes  of  life !  In  every  great  crisis  our  in- 
stincts are  apt  suddenly  to  rise  upon  us,  and  in  these  ex- 
citing struggles  we  are  liable  to  be  seized  by  that  passion 
which  led  the  fiery  race-horse,  in  the  height  of  a  desperate 
contest,  to  catch  his  rival  with  his  teeth  as  he  passed,  and 
hold  him  back  from  the  goal  by  which  a  few  strides  would 
have  borne  him.  But  for  the  condemnation  of  this  sin  I 
must  turn  you  over  to  the  tenth  commandment,  which,  in 
its  last  general  clause,  unquestionably  contains  this  special 
rule  for  physicians :  Thou  shalt  not  covet  thy  neighbor's 
patients. 

You  can  hardly  cultivate  any  sturdy  root  of  virtue  but 
it  will  bear  the  leaves  and  flowers  of  some  natural  grace  or 
other.  If  you  are  always  fair  to  your  professional  brethren, 
you  will  almost  of  necessity  encourage  those  habits  of 
courtesy  in  your  intercourse  with  them  which  are  the  breath- 
ing organs  and  the  blossoms  of  the  virtue  from  which  they 
spring. 

And  now  let  me  add  various  suggestions  relating  to 
matters  of  conduct  which  I  cannot  but  think  may  influence 
your  course,  and  contribute  to  your  success  and  happiness. 
I  will  state  them  more  or  less  concisely  as  they  seem  to  re- 
quire, but  I  shall  utter  them  magisterially,  for  the  place  in 
which  I  stand  allows  me  to  speak  with  a  certain  authority. 

Avoid  all  habits  that  tend  to  make  you  unwilling  to  go 
wherever  you  are  wanted  at  any  time.  No  over-feeding  or 
drinking  or  narcotic  must  fasten  a  ball  and  chain  to  your 
ankle.    Semper  paratus  is  the  only  motto  for  a  physician ! 

The  necessity  of  punctuality  is  generally  well  under- 
stood by  the  profession  in  cities.  In  the  country  it  is  not 
unusual  to  observe  a  kind  of  testudineous  torpor  of  motion, 
common  to  both  man  and  beast,  and  which  can  hardly  fail 
to  reach  the  medical  practitioner.  Punctuality  is  so  im- 
portant, in  consultations  especially,  to  the  patient  as  well  as 
the  practitioner,  that  nothing  can  excuse  the  want  of  it, — not 
even  having  nothing  to  do, — for  the  busiest  people,  as  every- 
body knows,  are  the  most  punctual.  There  is  another  pre- 
cept which  I  borrow  from  my  wise  friend  and  venerated 


PRACTICAL  ETHICS  OF  THE  PHYSICIAN  37 

instructor,  the  Emeritus  Professor  of  Theory  and  Practise ; 
and  you  may  be  very  sure  that  he  never  laid  down  a  rule 
he  did  not  keep  himself.  Endeavor  always  to  make  your 
visit  to  a  patient  at  the  same  regular  time,  when  he  expects 
you.  You  will  save  him  a  great  deal  of  fretting,  and  occa- 
sionally prevent  his  sending  for  your  rival  when  he  has  got 
tired  of  waiting  for  you. 

Your  conduct  in  the  sick-room,  in  conversation  with 
the  patient  or  his  friends,  is  a  matter  of  very  great  im- 
portance to  their  welfare  and  to  your  own  reputation.  You 
remember  the  ancient  surgical  precept, — Tuto,  cito,  jucunde. 
I  will  venture  to  write  a  parallel  precept  under  it,  for  the 
manner  in  which  a  medical  practitioner  shall  operate  with 
his  tongue;  a  much  more  dangerous  instrument  than  the 
scalpel  or  the  bistoury.  Breviter,  suaviter,  cante.  Say  not 
too  much,  speak  it  gently,  and  guard  it  cautiously.  Always 
remember  that  words  used  before  patients  or  their  friends 
are  like  coppers  given  to  children ;  you  think  little  of  them, 
but  the  children  count  them  over  and  over  and  over,  make 
all  conceivable  imaginary  uses  of  them,  and  very  likely 
change  them  into  something  or  other  which  makes  them 
sick,  and  causes  you  to  be  sent  for  to  clean  out  the  stomach 
you  have  so  unwittingly  filled  with  trash ;  a  task  not  so  easy 
as  it  was  to  give  them  the  means  of  filling  it. 

The  forming  of  a  diagnosis,  the  utterance  of  a  prog- 
nosis, and  the  laying  down  of  a  plan  of  treatment,  all  de- 
mand certain  particular  cautions.  You  must  learn  them  by 
your  mistakes,  it  may  be  feared,  but  there  are  a  few  hints 
which  you  may  not  be  the  worse  for  hearing. 

Sooner  or  later,  everybody  is  tripped  up  in  forming 
a  diagnosis.  I  saw  Velpeau  tie  one  of  the  carotid  arteries 
for  a  supposed  aneurism,  which  was  only  a  little  harmless 
tumor,  and  kill  his  patient.  Mr.  Dease  of  Dublin  was  more 
fortunate  in  a  case  which  he  boldly  declared  an  abscess, 
while  others  thought  it  an  aneurism.  He  thrust  a  lancet 
into  it,  and  proved  himself  in  the  right.  Soon  after  he  made 
another  similar  diagnosis.  He  thrust  in  his  lancet  as  be- 
fore, and  out  gushed  the  patient's  blood  and  his  life  with 


■d^dfif;-! 


38  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

it.  The  next  morning  Mr.  Dease  was  found  dead  and  float- 
ing in  his  own  blood.  He  had  divided  the  femoral  artery. 
The  same  caution  that  the  surgeon  must  exercise  in  his  ex- 
amination of  external  diseases,  the  physician  must  carry 
into  all  his  physical  explorations.  If  the  one  can  be  cheated 
by  an  external  swelling,  the  other  may  be  deceived  by  an 
internal  disease.  Be  very  careful;  be  very  slow;  be  very 
modest  in  the  presence  of  Nature.  One  special  caution  let 
me  add.  If  you  are  ever  so  accurate  in  your  physical  ex- 
plorations, do  not  rely  too  much  upon  your  results.  Given 
fifty  men  with  a  certain  fixed  amount  of  organic  disease, 
twenty  may  die,  twenty  may  linger  indefinitely,  and  ten 
may  never  know  they  have  anything  the  matter  with  them. 
I  think  you  will  pardon  my  saying  that  I  have  known  some- 
thing of  the  arts  of  direct  exploration,  though  I  wrote  a 
youthful  essay  on  them,  which,  of  course,  is  liable  to  be  con- 
sidered a  presumption  to  the  contrary.  I  would  not,  there- 
fore, undervalue  them,  but  I  will  say  that  a  diagnosis  which 
maps  out  the  physical  condition  ever  so  accurately,  is,  in  a 
large  proportion  of  cases,  of  less  consequence  than  the 
opinion  of  a  sensible  man  of  experience,  founded  on  the 
history  of  the  disease,  though  he  has  never  seen  the  patient. 
And  this  leads  me  to  speak  of  prognosis  and  its  fallacies. 
I  have  doomed  people,  and  seen  others  doom  them,  over  and 
over  again,  on  the  strength  of  physical  signs,  and  they  have 
lived  in  the  most  contumacious  and  scientifically  unjustifi- 
able manner  as  long  as  they  lived,  and  some  of  them  are 
living  still.  I  see  two  men  in  the  street  very  often  who 
were  both  as  good  as  dead  in  the  opinion  of  all  who  saw 
them  in  their  extremity.  People  will  insist  on  living,  some- 
times, though  manifestly  moribund.  In  Dr.  Elder's  "Life 
of  Kane"  you  will  find  a  case  of  this  sort,  told  by  Dr.  Kane 
himself.  The  captain  of  a  ship  was  dying  of  scurvy,  but 
the  crew  mutinied,  and  he  gave  up  dying  for  the  present 
to  take  care  of  them.  An  old  lady  in  this  city,  near  her  end, 
got  a  little  vexed  about  a  proposed  change  in  her  will ;  made 
up  her  mind  not  to  die  just  then ;  ordered  a  coach ;  was 
driven  twenty  miles  to  the  house  of  a  relative,  and  lived  four 


PRACTICAL  ETHICS  OF  THE  PHYSICIAN  39 

years  longer.  Cotton  Mather  tells  some  good  stories  which  he 
picked  up  in  his  experience,  or  out  of  his  books,  showing  the 
unstable  equilibrium  of  prognosis.  Simon  Stone  was  shot  in 
nine  places  and,  as  he  lay  for  dead,  the  Indians  made  two 
hacks  with  a  hatchet  to  cut  his  head  off.  He  got  well,  how- 
ever, and  was  a  lusty  fellow  in  Cotton  Mather's  time.  Jabez 
Musgrove  was  shot  with  a  bullet  which  went  in  at  his  ear  and 
came  out  at  his  eye  on  the  other  side.  A  couple  of  bullets 
went  through  his  body  also.  Jabez  got  well,  however,  and 
lived  many  years.  Percontra,  Colonel  Rossiter,  cracking  a 
plum-stone  with  his  teeth,  broke  a  tooth  and  lost  his  life. 
We  have  seen  physicians  dying,  like  Spigelius,  from  a 
scratch;  and  a  man  who  had  had  a  crowbar  shot  through 
his  head  alive  and  well.  These  extreme  cases  are  warnings. 
But  you  can  never  be  too  cautious  in  your  prognosis,  in 
the  view  of  the  great  uncertainty  of  the  course  of  any  dis- 
ease not  long  watched,  and  the  many  unexpected  turns  it 
may  take. 

I  think  I  am  not  the  first  to  utter  the  following  caution : 
Beware  how  you  take  away  hope  from  any  human  being. 
Nothing  is  clearer  than  that  the  merciful  Creator  intends 
to  blind  most  people  as  they  pass  down  into  the  dark  valley. 
Without  very  good  reasons,  temporal  or  spiritual,  we  should 
not  interfere  with  his  kind  arrangements.  It  is  the  height 
of  cruelty  and  the  extreme  of  impertinence  to  tell  your 
patient  he  must  die,  except  you  are  sure  that  he  wishes  to 
know  it,  or  that  there  is  some  particular  cause  for  his  know- 
ing it.  I  should  be  especially  unwilling  to  tell  a  child  that 
it  could  not  recover ;  if  the  theologians  think  it  necessary, 
let  them  take  the  responsibility.  God  leads  it  by  the  hand 
to  the  edge  of  the  precipice  in  happy  unconsciousness,  and 
I  would  not  open  its  eyes  to  what  He  wisely  conceals. 

Having  settled  the  caution  methods  to  be  pursued  in 
deciding  what  a  disease  is,  and  what  its  course  is  to  be ;  hav- 
ing considered  how  much  of  your  knowledge  or  belief  is  to 
be  told,  and  to  whom  it  is  to  be  imparted,  the  whole  question 
of  treatment  remains  to  be  reduced  to  system. 

It  is  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  find  that  one  has  killed  a 


40  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

patient  by  a  slip  of  the  pen.  I  am  afraid  our  barbarous 
method  of  writing  prescriptions  in  what  is  sometimes 
fancifully  called  Latin,  and  with  the  old  astrological  sign 
of  Jupiter  at  the  head  of  them  to  bring  good  luck,  may  have 
helped  to  swell  the  list  of  casualties.  We  understand  why 
plants  and  minerals  should  have  technical  names,  but  I  am 
much  disposed  to  think  that  good  plain  English,  written  out 
at  full  length,  is  good  enough  for  the  practical  physician's 
use.  Why  should  I  employ  the  language  of  Celsus?  He 
commonly  used  none  but  his  own.  However,  if  we  must  use 
a  dead  language,  and  symbols  which  are  not  only  dead  but 
damned  by  all  sound  theology,  let  us  be  very  careful  in  form- 
ing those  medical  quavers  and  semiquavers  that  stand  for 
ounces  and  drachms,  and  all  our  other  enlightened  hiero- 
glyphics. One  other  rule  I  may  venture  to  give,  forced 
upon  me  by  my  own  experience :  After  writing  a  receipt, 
make  it  an  invariable  rule  to  read  it  over,  not  mechanically, 
but  with  all  your  faculties  wide  awake.  One  sometimes 
writes  a  prescription  as  if  his  hand  were  guided  by  a 
medium, — automatically,  as  the  hind-legs  of  a  water-beetle 
strike  out  in  the  water  after  they  are  separated  from  the 
rest  of  him.  If  all  of  you  will  follow  the  rule  I  have  given, 
sooner  or  later  some  one  among  you  will  very  probably  find 
himself  the  author  of  a  homicidal  document,  which  but  for 
this  precaution  might  have  carried  out  its  intentions. 

With  regard  to  the  exhibition  of  drugs  as  a  part  of 
your  medical  treatment,  the  golden  rule  is,  be  sparing. 
Many  remedies  you  give  would  make  a  well  person  so  ill 
that  he  would  send  for  you  at  once  if  he  had  taken 
one  of  your  doses  accidentally.  It  is  not  quite  fair  to  give 
such  things  to  a  sick  man,  unless  it  is  clear  that  they  will 
do  more  good  than  the  very  considerable  harm  you  know 
they  will  cause.  Be  very  gracious  with  children  especially. 
I  have  seen  old  men  shiver  at  the  recollection  of  the  rhubarb 
and  jalap  of  infancy.  You  may  depend  upon  it  that  half 
the  success  of  Homeopathy  is  due  to  the  sweet  peace  it  has 
brought  into  the  nursery.  Between  the  gurgling  down  of 
loathsome  mixtures  and  the  saccharine  deliquescence  of  a 


PRACTICAL  ETHICS  OF  THE  PHYSICIAN  41 

minute  globule,  what  tender  mother  could  for  a  moment 
hesitate. 

Let  me  add  one  other  hint  which  I  believe  will  approve 
itself  on  trial.  After  proper  experience  of  the  most  ap- 
proved forms  of  remedies,  or  of  such  as  you  shall  yourselves 
select  and  combine,  make  out  your  own  brief  list  of  real 
every-day  prescriptions,  and  do  not  fall  into  the  habit  of 
those  extemporaneous  fancy-combinations,  which  amuse  the 
physician  more  than  they  profit  the  patient.  Once  more: 
if  you  give  medicine,  do  it  in  a  manly  way,  and  not  in  half 
doses,  hacking  but  not  chopping  at  the  stem  of  the  deadly- 
fruited  tree  you  would  bring  down.  Remember  this,  too: 
that  although  remedy  may  often  be  combined  advantage- 
ously, the  difficulty  of  estimating  the  effects  of  a  prescrip- 
tion is  as  the  square  of  the  number  of  its  ingredients.  The 
deeper  you  wade  in  polypharmacy,  the  less  you  see  of  the 
ground  on  which  you  stand. 

It  is  time  to  bring  these  hurried  and  crowded  remarks 
to  a  close.  Reject  what  in  them  is  false,  examine  what  is 
doubtful,  remember  what  is  true ;  and  so,  God  bless  you,  gen- 
tlemen, and — Farewell! 


NOTES  OF  AN  ADDRESS  TO  MEDICAL 
STUDENTS 


BY 

SYDNEY  DOBELL 


43 


NOTES  OF  AN  ADDRESS  TO  MEDICAL  STUDENTS 


OU  have  graduated — literally,  you  have  taken  steps. 
But  what  steps?  Steps  on  that  Jacob's  ladder  of 
human  improvement  whose  base  rests  on  earth, 
indeed,  but  whose  top  should  be  in  heaven.  Let 
the  success  that  has  attended  you  in  these  first  stairs  of  the 
ascent  be  the  stimulus  to  such  a  noble  ambition  as  shall  not 
rest  till  the  highest  rundle  be  gained. 

The  active  and  individual  life  of  each  of  you  may  be 
said  to  commence  from  to-day.  I  wish,  therefore,  to  speak 
briefly  of  the  three  principal  facts  which  make  up  the  prac- 
tical life  of  every  individual  in  the  civilized  community: 
his  social  position,  his  pecuniary  resources,  and  his  private 
character.    On  each  of  these  I  shall  say  a  word. 

First,  social  position.  At  a  time  when  the  Continental 
world  is  divided  into  two  great  contending  parties,  repre- 
senting the  opposite  extremes  of  opinion — the  one  crying 
frantically  for  Liberte,  Egalite,  and  the  other  sworn  to  up- 
hold a  system  of  conventional  and  unreal  distinctions — you 
are  about  to  occupy  a  peculiar  and  very  interesting  place. 

You — Medicines  Doctores — are  going  out,  a  titled  few, 
into  the  midst  of  the  untitled  many ;  and  you  have  received 
your  honorable  titles  in  a  University  whose  motto  is,  Pal- 
man  qui  meruit  ferat. 

Let  your  future  life  ana  conversation  be  in  keeping  with 
this  commencement.  Let  it  be  yours  to  show,  on  the  one 
hand,  that  rank  is  natural  and  inherent  in  mankind,  that 
human  society  can  only  healthily  exist  by  a  due  and  happy 
ordination  of  degrees ;  but  to  vindicate,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  great  irresistible  truth,  that  title  should  be  the  outward 
sign  of  inward  superiority,  that  dignity  in  name  should  be 
the  mere  index  of  dignity  in  fact,  and  that  social  distinctions 
are  then  only  just  and  venerable  when  those  who  bear  them 

45 


46  THE  SHRINE  OF  yESCULAPIUS 

are  of  Nature's  aristocracy — "nobles,"  in  the  words  of  a 
great  Scotchman,  spoken  of  your  Covenanting  forefathers — 
nobles  by  right  of  an  earlier  creation ;  priests,  by  the  imposi- 
tion of  a  mightier  Hand. 

With  regard  to  pecuniary  resources,  the  situation  of  the 
physician  is  so  special  and  so  important  that  it  becomes  me 
to  speak  and  you  to  think  upon  it  with  no  ordinary  atten- 
tion. The  whole  monetary  business  of  the  physician  is,  by 
necessity,  of  an  exceptional  kind.  On  the  ordinary  trans- 
action of  the  market-place  the  commodity  transferred  to  the 
buyer  bears  some  calculable  proportion  to  the  price  received 
by  the  seller.  But  it  is  the  quality  of  purely  intellectual 
labor  that  it  admits  of  no  such  bargain  and  sale.  You  can- 
not pay  the  author  "whose  thoughts" — in  the  phrase  of  our 
Laureate — "enrich  the  blood  of  the  world" ;  you  cannot  pay 
the  advocate  who  wins  you  your  inheritance  or  vindicates 
your  fame ;  you  cannot  pay  the  physician  who  steps  between 
you  and  the  grave,  or  snatches  a  beloved  from  the  open  jaws 
of  death,  or  restores  to  a  faint  and  fading  life  the  health  that 
gives  vigor  to  duty  and  zest  to  enjoyment.  In  all  these  cases 
the  greatest  monetary  return  that  can  be  made  by  the  re- 
cipient of  an  incalculable  benefit  is  no  more  than  an  acknowl- 
edgment of  its  receipt,  a  recognition  of  a  debt  that  can  never 
be  paid.  Let  this  fact  have  its  due  effect  on  the  mind  of 
every  one  of  you.  Remember  that,  in  its  sphere,  commerce 
is  noble,  honorable,  and  beneficent ;  but  that  the  spirit  which 
is  to  animate  you  is  a  spirit  higher  than  the  commercial. 

The  calculations  which  adjust  the  commodity  given  to 
the  price  received  are  not  those  on  which  you  are  now  going 
forth  to  distribute  your  science,  your  talents,  and  your 
sympathies.  You  will  show  your  consciousness  that  what 
you  impart  is  inestimable  by  forbidding  yourselves  to  enter- 
tain the  very  notion  of  an  estimate.  Whatever  your  hand 
finds  to  do  will  be  done  with  your  might.  While  in  other 
departments  of  industry  the  quality  of  the  workmanship  is 
in  proportion  to  the  remuneration  of  the  workman,  it  is  the 
pride  of  the  physician  to  emulate  the  operations  of  the  great 
optimist — Nature — and  never  to  do  less  than  his  best.     It 


AN  ADDRESS  TO  MEDICAL  STUDENTS  47 

is  his  divine  privilege  to  imitate  that  "Good  Physician"  who 
gave  "without  money  and  without  price,"  and  to  bestow  on 
the  poor  man  for  his  thanks  and  the  rich  man  for  his  fee 
the  same  deepest  learning,  the  same  highest  skill,  and  the 
same  most  excellent  patience. 

If  it  be  "more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive,"  how 
favored  his  function  who  gives  what  can  never  be  paid ! 
how  God-like  his  vocation  whose  life  is  one  impartial  benefi- 
cence— who  causes  the  sun  of  his  cheering  influence  to  shine 
upon  the  evil  and  the  good,  and  sends  his  healing  rain  upon 
the  just  and  the  unjust! 

I  am  now  speaking  to  you — Medicine?  Doctores — and 
pointing  out  your  duties.  If  I  were  addressing  the  world 
at  large,  I  should  perhaps  have  occasion  to  descant  as  em- 
phatically upon  the  duties  of  the  patient  to  the  doctor  as  I 
have  now  done  on  those  of  the  doctor  to  the  patient.  Or, 
perhaps,  I  should  rather  say  in  each  case,  on  the  duties  that 
every  man  owes  to  himself  and  to  right. 

Which  leads  me  to  the  third  element  in  your  public  lives, 
your  private  characters.  And  leaving  the  more  solemn 
aspects  of  the  subject,  and  dealing  with  it  professionally,  I 
recognize  as  the  first  of  scientific  maxims  the  great  moral 
precept:  Physician,  heal  thyself.  Omitting  those  higher 
considerations,  which  are,  nevertheless,  peculiarly  imperative 
on  those  whose  daily  duties  are  in  the  house  of  affliction  and 
by  the  bed  of  death,  and  who,  by  the  specialties  of  their 
position  will  have  to  enter  more  than  other  men  into  the 
secrets,  sorrows,  and  temptations  of  suffering  humanity,  and 
taking  my  standpoint  on  the  lower  levels  of  science,  I  find 
that  the  moral  excellence  which  religion  demands  is  the 
highest  guarantee  of  philosophical  success.  "To  do  justice, 
and  to  love  mercy,  and  to  walk  humbly,"  is  the  ethics  at 
once  of  science  and  religion.  The  just  man,  whose  soul  is 
itself  in  constant  equilibrium),  will  best  perceive  the  ex- 
quisite justice  of  nature,  and  understand  those  fine  compen- 
sations by  which  material  stability  is  balanced  and  main- 
tained. He  who  is  himself  merciful  is  best  prepared  to  ap- 
preciate that  atmosphere  of  mercy  which  surrounds  the  solid 


48  THE  SHRINE  OF  JESCULAPIUS 

necessities  and  harder  provisions  to  creation,  to  detect  the 
defensive  contrivance  that  sheathes  an  operative  function, 
to  observe  the  restorative  powers  which  accompany  the  sus- 
ceptibility to  disease,  and  to  recognize — in  all  that  ample 
variety  which  science  reveals  to  the  eye  attempered  to  re- 
ceive it — "the  silent  magnanimity  of  Nature."  And  the 
humility  of  the  Christian  is  not  less  valuable  in  the  hospital, 
the  class-room,  or  the  study,  than  in  the  common  paths  of 
life.  The  first  condition  of  real  success  in  any  natural 
science  is,  that  it  is  approached  devoutly,  in  the  attitude  not 
of  the  dogmatist  but  of  the  disciple.  The  great  secret  of  the 
modern  attainments  and  the  ancient  failures  in  these  scien- 
tific fields,  is  the  fact  that  we  are  humble  and  they  were 
proud. 

Nature — like  Falstaff — will  not  "give  reason  on  com- 
pulsion." Ancient  philosophy  came  to  facts,  and  squared 
them  on  that  bed  of  Procrustes — an  apriori  theory.  Modern 
philosophy  is  thankful  for  the  facts,  and  waits  till  they  make 
a  bed  for  themselves.  The  one  "called  spirits  from  the 
vasty  deep,"  the  other  was  content  to  analyze  water  and  in- 
quire the  causes  of  the  tides.  The  one  sought,  as  a  master, 
to  "bind  the  sweet  influences  of  Pleiades  and  loose  the  bands 
of  Orion,"  the  other  was  satisfied,  as  a  pupil,  to  wait  upon 
courses  of  the  stars.  The  one  launched  the  thunder-bolt 
from  the  hand  of  an  arbitrary  Jove,  and  strove  to  avert  its 
terrors  by  the  hecatomb  and  the  human  sacrifice ;  the  other 
sent  a  child's  kite  into  the  clouds  and  held  the  lightning  in 
a  woman's  silken  thread.  Yet  the  one  left  science  an  empty 
boast,  a  brilliant  sophism,  an  ambitious  superstition ;  and 
the  other  traverses  the  earth  with  the  strength  of  Titans 
and  the  pace  of  the  once-worshiped  winds,  measures  and 
weighs  the  planets  that  were  held  divine,  adds  new  universes 
to  the  empire  of  intelligence,  passes  on  its  electric  wings  the 
magic  messenger  of  Prospero,  and  unites  in  bodily  inter- 
course or  mental  communion  the  most  distant  families  of 
man.  In  a  word,  the  dispensations  that  govern  us  are  con- 
sistent with  themselves ;  and  he  who  would  excel  in  the  in- 
vestigation of  Nature  will  find  his  best  apprenticeship  in  the 


AN  ADDRESS  TO  MEDICAL  STUDENTS  4g 

School  of  Revelation.  The  subject  of  his  study  is  a  produc- 
tion of  the  Divine  Essence,  and  no  man  will  understand  it 
less  for  approaching  the  character  of  the  Divine.  "Blessed 
are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see  God" ;  and  the  great 
Canon  is  of  universal  application  whether  we  would  behold 

Him  in  the  cosmos  without  or  the  microcosm  within. 
****** 

We  have,  as  it  were,  studied  geography  together;  you 
are  now  going  on  your  travels  upon  the  face  of  the  real 
world.     The  marks  on  the  map  stand  for  very  stern  realities. 

Hills,  high  and  difficult — but  then  what  a  prospect! 

Rivers,  dangerous  and  deep — but  then  how  fertilizing! 

Roads,  long  and  weary — but  leading  to  what  gorgeous 
cities ! — And  trod  with  what  sweet  companions ! 

We  have  gone — as  it  were — through  the  grammar  and 
vocabulary — and  you  are  now  to  speak  and  hear  the  living 
language.  Those  of  you  who  have  been  in  foreign  lands 
can  testify  to  the  seriousness  of  the  task,  and  that  the  well- 
learned  syntax  of  the  desk  or  the  class-room  is  but  too  often 
at  fault  in  the  ten  thousand  quick  necessities  of  daily  cir- 
cumstances. But  then  how  delightful  the  sound  of  the 
spoken  tongue!  How  full  of  new  meanings  and  interests! 
How  warm  with  human  passions!  How  sacred — (it  may 
be) — with  Divine  Intelligence! 

May  those  travels,  guided  by  the  science  you  take  hence, 
be  fruitful  to  yourselves  and  beneficial  to  mankind !  May 
that  language  learned  at  the  knees  of  Alma  Mater  be  the 
mother-tongue  of  truth  and  goodness !  We  have  spent  three 
years  together  in  military  discipline  and  you  have  practised 
yourselves  thoroughly  in  the  use  of  weapons.  You  are  now 
about  to  enter  upon  the  seas  and  fields  of  practical  duty, 
and  to  reduce  the  Cronstadts  and  Sebastopols  of  actual 
human  ill.  Remember  that  the  battle  of  life  is  as  much 
above  your  quiet  exercises  within  these  peaceful  walls,  as 
Trafalgar  above  the  sham  fight  at  Southampton!  and  that 
all  the  learning,  talent,  virtue,  and  courage  of  the  greatest 
and  the  best  among  you  will  not  be  too  much  to  bear  the  flag 
of  science  triumphant,  and  prove  yourselves  worthy  of  those 


50  THE  SHRINE  OF  yESCULAFIUS 

gallant  predecessors,  who  placed  it  in  the  van  of  the  world. 
I  am  confident  that  while  our  soldiers  and  sailors  in  the 
North  and  in  the  East  are  shedding  their  blood  in  the  cause 
of  enlightenment,  and  winning  for  their  country  that 
proudest  title  of  a  free  nation,  "the  stay  of  the  weak  and  the 
friend  of  the  oppressed,"  you,  in  other  but  not  less  glorious 
contests,  will  as  faithfully  uphold  the  honor  of  the  British 
name.  Recollecting  that,  as  "Peace  hath  her  victories  as 
well  as  War,"  in  either  conflict  "England  expects  every  man 
to  do  his  duty,"  and  all  worldly  prudence  and  all  true  re- 
ligion are  summed  up  in  that  saying  of  the  great  Christian 
warrior : 

.  "Trust  in  God,  and  keep  your  powder  dry !" 


MISS  BLACK'S  AFFINITY 

BY 

GEORGE  HORTON 


5i 


MISS  BLACK'S  AFFINITY 

A  STUDY  IN  IDEAL  SURGERY 

HE  saw  him  first  at  Everybody's  Church,  whither 
he  had  been  invited  to  read  a  paper  on  "Walt 
Whitman,"  in  the  temporary  absence  of  the  pastor, 
the  Reverend  Gryffith  Llewellyn  Smythe. 
His  name  was  Frank  Lounsberry  and  he  bore  a  general 
resemblance  to  William  Jennings  Bryan.  His  forehead  was 
high,  and  the  semicircular  bald  space  at  the  left,  where  he 
parted  his  hair,  gave  him  an  added  effect  of  intellectuality. 
The  few  tenuous,  silvery  hairs  which  grew  there  reminded 
one  of  the  device  by  which  landscape  gardeners  set  out  slen- 
der poplars  in  a  city  yard,  artistically  transforming  a  small 
inclosure  into  a  nobleman's  park.  He  was  clean-shaven 
and,  as  in  the  case  of  most  eloquent  men,  his  mouth  was 
large.  His  upper  lip  was  thin  and  extremely  flexible,  com- 
ing to  a  point,  suggestive  of  prehensile  powers  in  some  re- 
mote quadruped  ancestor.  Frequent  shaving  of  a  stiff  and 
aggressive  mustache  had  left  the  lip  minutely  tented  with 
black  hirsute  roots,  that,  pushing  up  from  beneath  the  skin, 
gave  it  a  bluish  cast.  His  nose  was  large,  the  nostrils  thin. 
He  appeared  in  the  pulpit  in  a  long  Prince  Albert  coat  and  a 
low  turn-down  collar. 

The  Reverend  Louisa  Bradford  introduced  him.  Her 
collar  was  very  high — "the  limit,"  as  a  slangy  street  urchin 
would  have  described  it — and  its  sharp  points  held  her  plump 
chin  well  in  the  air.  She  wore  a  narrow  four-in-hand  tie, 
and  her  curly  brown  locks  were  cut  short  and  parted  well  on 
the  side.  She  opened  the  exercises  by  praying  for  the  fol- 
lowers of  Mohammed,  Confucius,  Buddha,  Christ,  "and  all 
other  inspired  teachers."  Her  prayer  was  eloquent,  but  on 
the  whole  she  resembled  the  mixed  beings  of  ancient  fable, 

53 


54  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

such  as  mermaids  and  centaurs ;  for  she  was  masquerading 
as  a  man  from  the  pulpit  up,  but  she  had  a  kissable  mouth 
that  suggested  skirts,  and  French-heeled  shoes.  After  the 
prayer,  she  explained: 

"During  the  absence  of  our  beloved  pastor,  this  pulpit 
will  be  filled  by  distinguished  members  of  the  bar,  and  of 
the  medical  and  other  learned  professions.  The  committee 
will  endeavor  to  compensate  for  our  temporary  deprivation 
by  securing  the  services  of  genuine  leaders  of  thought,  who 
will  discuss  pregnant  questions  of  literature,  art,  politics, 
sociology.  May  the  blessing  of  God  be  diffused  abundantly 
upon  these  gatherings !  May  He  lead  us,  through  them, 
a  little  deeper  into  that  white  light  of  reason  in  which  He 
eternally  abides!  To-day  Mr.  Frank  Lounsberry,  of  the 
Chicago  bar,  will  address  us  upon  the  subject,  'Walt  Whit- 
man.' " 

Mr.  Lounsberry  arose,  cleared  his  throat  and  laid  his 
manuscript  upon  the  lectern.  Then  he  took  a  sip  of  water 
and  looked  impressively  over  the  audience  for  the  full 
space  of  a  minute.  The  house  was  nearly  full,  but  the 
one  face,  of  all  those  turned  curiously  toward  him,  that  he 
really  saw  was  that  of  a  most  unattractive  little  woman 
who  wore  a  cheap  hat  of  blue  felt,  trimmed  with  a  huge, 
blue  bow  and  one  stiff  chicken  feather.  The  face  was 
round  and  unnaturally  red.  In  that  garden  of  faces  it 
seemed  a  flower  redder  than  all  the  rest — a  peony,  for  in- 
stance. This,  and  the  insistent  eagerness  of  the  eyes,  were 
the  two  things  about  it  that  most  impressed  Mr.  Louns- 
berry. In  fact,  that  one  countenance  drew  his  gaze  when- 
ever he  looked  up,  much  as  points  of  light  or  little  whirling 
devices  rivet  the  attention  of  hypnotic  subjects. 

The  thing  became  annoying  at  last.  Before  he  had  got 
half  through  with  his  paper,  he  grew  conscious  of  the  eyes 
while  his  own  were  fixed  upon  the  typewritten  lines  and  he 
began  to  feel  irresistibly  impelled  to  glance  up  and  satisfy 
himself  if  the  woman  were  still  regarding  him  with  the  same 
intensity.     Once  he  fancied  that  she  smiled  faintly,  and  he 


MISS  BLACK'S  AFFINITY 


55 


found  himself  racking  his  brain  as  to  whether  he  had  ever 
met  her  or  had  seen  her  anywhere  before. 

Mr.  Lounsberry,  though  happily  married  and  a  proud 
and  exemplary  husband  and  father,  was  what  is  known  as  a 
"freethinker."  He  believed,  or  thought  he  did,  the  Koran 
and  the  teachings  of  Buddha  as  fully  inspired  as  the  Bible, 
and  he  regarded  the  marriage  contract  simply  as  a  make- 
shift of  our  civilization,  without  the  least  element  of  sacred- 


ness 


"If  my  wife  should  prefer  another  man  to  me,"  he  said 
often,  "I  should  tell  her:  'You  are  as  free  as  air.'  This 
making  people  live  together  when  they  no  longer  desire  to 
is  the  crowning  mistake  of  the  twenty-first  century— a  mis- 
take that  will  be  righted  before  the  morning  of  a  new  cen- 
tury dawns.  It  is  a  refined  barbarism  that  makes  the  tor- 
tures of  the  Inquisition  seem  merciful.  Talk  about  the 
necessity  of  stricter  marriage  laws!  Freer  divorce  laws  are 
what  we  need.  My  wife  and  I  live  together  in  happiness 
because  we  love  each  other— because  we  are  congenial." 

The  promulgation  of  these  doctrines  before  various 
minor  women's  clubs  had  given  Mr.  Lounsberry  consider- 
able standing  as  a  prophet. 

At  the  close  of  the  services  in  Everybody's  Church,  a 
bevy  of  ladies  and  of  those  colorless  men  who  hang  upon 
the  skirts  of  strong-minded  women,  gathered  about  the 
essayist  and  fairly  overwhelmed  him  with  adulation  and 
hero-worship.  Many  questions  were  asked,  to  all  of  which 
he  replied  with  assurance  and  spontaneity,  for  he  was  used 
to  this  sort  of  thing  and  enjoyed  it. 

"Shakespeare,  Omar  Khayyam,  Whitman— these  were 
the  three  greatest  poets  of  all  time,"  he  declared,  "the  three 
Himalayas  of  poetic  thought,"  and  the  ladies  sighed  in  rapt 
admiration  at  the  truth  of  the  statement  and  the  sublimity 
of  the  metaphor. 

The  little  woman  with  the  red  countenance  pressed  up 
to  him.  She  wore  a  cloth  coat  buttoned  tightly  about  her 
plump  bust,  and  carried  an  umbrella  by  the  middle  in  her 


56  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

right  hand,  the  crook  forward.  She  stood  up  so  straight 
that  her  face  seemed  set  upon  the  top  of  her  head. 

"Your  paper  was  so  refreshing!"  she  gushed.  "But 
would  you  not  add  Browning  to  your  list  of  great  poets?" 

Mr.  Lounsberry  pursed  up  his  lips,  as  he  looked  down 
upon  the  human  peony,  with  a  deprecating,  benignant  smile. 

"Browning  is  but  an  infant  compared  to  Whitman," 
he  declared.  "Whitman  is  a  giant  of  courage.  He  dared 
to  say  what  he  thought.  Courage  is  the  thing  that  is  going 
to  redeem  poor,  cringing  humanity.  How  shall  we  be  gods 
unless  we  dare  to  say  and  do  ?  The  sublimest  conception  in 
pagan  literature  is  that  of  Ajax  defying  the  lightning,"  and 
he  shook  his  crumpled  manuscript  above  the  field  of  nodding 
bonnets  as  if  it  were  a  sheaf  of  captured  thunderbolts. 

Miss  Cecile  Black — for  that  was  the  little  lady's  name — 
felt  rebuked,  she  did  not  know  exactly  why,  and  she  went 
home  carrying  the  impression  that  Mr.  Lounsberry  was  a 
sort  of  modern  Ajax,  a  hero  of  godlike  intellect  and  courage. 

He  repeated  his  paper  three  times  within  the  month — 
at  the  Quillwomen's  Club,  at  the  Garden  City  Club,  and  the 
Female  Disciples  of  Schopenhauer.  On  each  occasion  Miss 
Black  was  present,  and  the  reader  began  to  regard  as  in- 
evitable that  round,  red  face,  and  the  cheap  bonnet  with  its 
blue  ribbons  and  single  hen's  feather,  as  uncompromisingly 
straight  as  her  back.  She  seemed  unable  to  get  enough  of 
Walt  Whitman,  and  she  was  sure  to  appear  among  the  circle 
of  admirers  after  each  reading  with  some  question.  On  one 
occasion  she  asked  Mr.  Lounsberry: 

"Which  do  you  think  the  greatest  of  all  Whitman's 
poems  ?"  and  on  another :  "Why  did  Whitman  not  write  his 
poems  like  other  poets — like  Tennyson,  for  instance,  in 
rhyme  and  meter?" 

"Ah,  there  you  see  his  sublime  disregard  of  convention- 
ality !"  was  the  answer.  "Tie  such  an  intellect  as  that  down 
with  the  cords  of  rhyme  and  meter?  You  might  as  well 
try  to  bind  Samson  with  a  silken  thread.  Does  God  regard 
fixed  rules  of  architecture  in  building  the  mountains  ?" 


MISS  BLACK'S  AFFINITY  57 

The  lawyer  little  dreamed  how  Miss  Black  studied  over 
her  questions,  to  make  them  original  and  sensible. 

In  less  than  two  months  after  first  seeing  him,  Miss 
Black  became  convinced  that  Mr.  Lounsberry  was  her  affin- 
ity, and  she  so  informed  her  most  intimate  friend,  Miss  Julia 
Ammon,  with  whom  she  took  her  lunch  each  day  at  the 
Pure  Food  Restaurant  on  Washington  Street. 

Both  of  these  ladies  were  confirmed  faddists.  They  be- 
lieved in  everything  that  was  at  all  out  of  the  ordinary: 
faith  healing,  vegetarianism,  osteopathy,  spiritualism,  palm- 
istry. Their  little  minds  ran  into  any  open  fold  with  the 
eagerness  of  bewildered  sheep;  and  the  mere  fact  that  a 
doctrine  was  new  or  unusual  convinced  them  that  it  was 
"advanced." 

Miss  Ammon  was  a  tall,  painfully  thin  lady,  with  a 
pronounced  mustache  and  so  many  freckles  that  her  face 
seemed  to  have  been  sprinkled  with  red  pepper.  She  con- 
ducted a  "beauty"  department  on  a  morning  paper,  while 
Miss  Black  officiated  as  stenographer  and  accountant  for  an 
Old  Book  shop  on  Madison  Street. 

"I  have  tried  mental  telepathy  on  him,  Julia,"  whispered 
the  little  woman,  over  a  dish  of  grape  nuts  and  a  Roosevelt 
sausage.  "I  have  looked  into  his  eyes  and  have  said  to 
myself,  over  and  over:  'You  are  my  affinity;  you  are  my 
affinity,'  and  his  great,  splendid,  yearning  eyes  have  answered 
mine,  'Yes,  yes.'  It  is  a  marriage  of  souls,  Julia,  more 
sacred  and  lasting  than  any  earthly  marriage  can  be." 

"Have  you  talked  with  him  about  it?"  asked  Julia. 

"No.  It  is  not  necessary.  I  probably  never  shall.  He 
knows  and  I  know.  Such  a  subject  is  too  sacred  for  mere 
human  speech.  When  we  meet  in  the  spirit  world,  we  shall 
know  all  about  it,  Julia." 

By  one  of  those  strange  coincidences  which  are  largely 
responsible  for  the  belief  in  mental  telepathy,  Mr.  Louns- 
berry was  talking  to  his  wife  at  that  very  moment  about 
Miss  Black. 

"I'm  haunted,"  he  declared,  as  he  helped  his  son  John 
to  a  second  liberal  portion  of  roast  beef. 


58  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

"Haunted?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lounsberry.  "Why,  what 
on  earth  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  everywhere  I  go,  I  am  confronted  by  the  most 
extraordinary  little  creature — a  woman  with  a  face  as  round 
as  an  orange  and  about  the  same  color,  too.  She  seems  to 
be  following  me  about  the  city  to  the  different  clubs  and 
places  where  I  read  my  paper  on  Whitman." 

"Father's  made  a  mash !  Father's  made  a  mash !"  cried 
William,  the  second  boy,  irreverently. 

The  great  man  grinned  sheepishly. 

"William !"  said  the  mother  sternly,  and  the  boy  looked 
frightened.  He  did  not  want  to  be  sent  away  from  the  table 
before  the  pudding,  and  his  mother  was  the  sole  arbiter  of 
destinies  in  that  house. 

Mrs.  Lounsberry  was  a  domestic  woman,  with  "no  non- 
sense about  her."  She  was  a  member  of  the  Presbyterian 
church  and  had  brought  her  husband  ten  thousand  dollars. 

"Sometimes  I  have  thought  as  William  does,"  sighed 
Mr.  Lounsberry.  "But,  on  the  whole,  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  she  is  a  Whitman  crank.  I  guess  I'll  have  to 
change  my  subject — get  up  that  paper  on  'The  Anna  Kare- 
nina  Type  in  Modern  Fiction,'  that  I  have  been  thinking 
about." 

Mrs.  Lounsberry  was  greatly  impressed  by  her  hus- 
band's literary  labors.  She  had  expected  him  to  do  great 
things  when  she  gave  herself  and  her  ten  thousand  dollars 
to  him. 

"That  ought  to  be  very  interesting,"  she  assented,  "but 
I  fear  that  your  orange-faced  woman  will  follow  you  just 
the  same.  All  brilliant  men  have  a  lot  of  silly  women  fol- 
lowing them  around." 

That  evening  Mr.  Lounsberry  attended  a  political  meet- 
ing, where  he  led  with  great  spirit  and  success  a  defection 
against  the  machine.  On  his  way  home  he  was  naming 
to  a  friend  three  men  who  seemed  most  suitable  to  him  as 
members  of  a  committee. 

"Sykes,"  he  repeated  for  the  fourth  time,  "Sykes,  Cor- 
bin,  and  Van  Ben — "     At  that  moment  he  was  hit  on  the 


MISS  BLACK'S  AFFINITY  59 

head  by  a  club  in  the  hands  of  an  unknown  man,  who  darted 
down  an  alley  and  disappeared. 

He  was  brought  home  unconscious,  his  hair  matted  with 
blood.  Two  versions  of  the  assault  were  given  in  the  next 
morning's  papers.  Some  said  that  the  attack  had  been  in- 
stigated by  political  opponents ;  others,  that  it  was  the  work 
of  footpads,  with  whom  the  city  is  at  all  times  infested. 

Mrs.  Lounsberry  put  her  husband  to  bed  and  carefully 
washed  his  face  and  head  with  warm  water.  Then  she 
kissed  him  and  sat  down  beside  him.  After  a  few  moments 
he  opened  his  eyes  and  she  asked,  anxiously : 

"Do  you  know  me,  Frank?" 

"Of  course,"  he  replied,  smiling  faintly  and  putting  his 
arm  around  her  neck. 

"Thank  God!"  she  laughed,  and  a  tear  dropped  upon 
the  pillow.     "You'll  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two." 

Then  she  went  briskly  about  her  duties,  showing  no 
other  sign  of  weakness.  The  very  next  morning  Mr. 
Lounsberry  arose,  ate  a  hearty  breakfast  and  went  to  his 
office.  His  wife  kissed  him  more  tenderly  than  usual  at 
the  moment  of  departure,  and  was  greatly  impressed  by  his 
manliness  in  making  so  little  of  a  serious  shock.  She  also 
took  pride  in  the  fact  that  he  opened  that  afternoon  a  suit 
in  which  he  had  been  retained,  and  that  he  conducted  it  for 
several  days  with  unusual  brilliancy. 

It  was  fully  three  months  before  she  began  to  suspect 
that  anything  was  wrong  with  her  husband.  In  the  mean- 
time he  had  bought  and  brought  home  an  itinerant  musician's 
hand-organ  and  a  most  obstreperous  cockatoo  from  a  bird 
fancier's  on  State  Street.  Though  he  seemed  to  conduct  his 
business  with  unabated  lucidity,  he  spent  whole  hours  in  the 
evenings  playing  the  hand-organ,  or  reading  his  Whitman 
lecture  in  an  exceedingly  loud  tone  of  voice.  A  great  fear 
grew  up  in  the  poor  wife's  heart,  and  she  attempted,  by  the 
most  assiduous  tenderness,  to  win  her  husband  back  to  his 
old  self.  Her  attentions  seemed,  however,  to  irritate  him. 
There  was  often  a  gleam  in  his  eyes  that  frightened  her,  and 
she  lay  awake  nights,  wondering  whether  he  were  asleep  or 


60  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

not.  When  the  children  asked  her,  from  time  to  time, 
"What's  the  matter  with  father?"  she  replied,  "I  think  he 
has  been  working  too  hard,"  but  it  seemed  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 

Matters  at  home  had  reached  this  tragic  pass  when  he 
happened  one  day  to  meet  Miss  Black  on  the  street.  Carry- 
ing her  umbrella  horizontally  in  her  right  hand,  she  held 
her  face  well  up  and  looked  him  smilingly  in  the  eye  with 
her  telepathic  gaze. 

"Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Miss — Miss — "  said  he,  extending 
his  hand. 

"Black,"  she  gasped,  drinking  in  his  gaze  eagerly. 
"Have  you  quite  recovered  from  your  wound?  I  have  so 
longed  to  express  my  sympathy  for  you." 

"Oh,  that  was  a  mere  nothing — nothing,  I  assure  you. 
But  how  well  you  are  looking !  Why  is  it  that  I  have  seen 
so  little  of  you  recently?  I  have  missed  your  rosy  cheeks 
and  bright  eyes.     I  wonder,  Miss — Miss — " 

"Black." 

"Miss  Black,  have  you  ever  suspected  how  great  an 
inspiration  you  have  been  to  me  in  my  real  work  ?  Your  in- 
telligent and  eager  questions,  your  rapt  attention  have  en- 
couraged me.  I  have  felt  that  you  have  been  one  of  the 
women  that  understand." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Lounsberry!"  gasped  the  delighted  woman. 

"Yes.  Were  I  united  to  such  a  woman  as  you,  it  would 
not  be  necessary  for  me  to  spend  my  evenings  in  solitude  or 
playing  a  hand-organ  in  sheer  despair — in  sheer  despair, 
madam,"  and  he  passed  down  the  street,  gesticulating  and 
murmuring  to  himself. 

Mr.  Lounsberry  now  became  a  frequenter  of  the  Old 
Book  Shop,  where  he  held  long  conversations  with  Miss 
Black.  He  placed  a  standing  order  with  the  proprietor 
for  the  original  edition  of  Whitman,  printed  by  the  poet,  and 
he  seized  eagerly  on  any  volume  bearing  upon  his  favorite 
subject  which  Miss  Black  was  able  to  find  for  him.  Thus 
he  kissed  and  shed  tears  over  a  lithograph  facsimile  of  Whit- 
man's handwriting  (the  "Biographical  Note")  and  he  went 


MISS  BLACK'S  AFFINITY  61 

into  raptures  over   the  essay,   "Anne  Gilchrist  and  Walt 
Whitman." 

"Ah,"  he  murmured  frequently,  "if  I  had  such  a  woman 
as  you  for  my  companion,  then  my  great  work  might  be- 
come a  possibility — my  'Life  of  the  Good  Gray  Poet'  " 

And  she  would  whisper  in  reply:  "It  shall  become  a 
possibility.  You  must  not  let  anything  interfere  with  your 
life-work." 

In  addition  to  the  Whitmaniana,  Mr.  Lounsberry 
bought  various  other  books,  often  surprising  the  little 
woman  by  his  extraordinary  predilections.  Thus,  one  day 
he  carried  off  with  him  a  volume  on  "The  Use  and  Abuse  of 
Steam  Rollers,"  and  at  another  time  he  ordered  sent  to  his 
house  the  "Proceedings  of  the  Council  of  the  City  of  Raleigh, 
North  Carolina,"  in  ten  volumes.  If  questioned  as  to  his 
reason  for  any  act  that  seemed  at  all  queer,  he  returned 
answers  that  were  surprisingly  lucid  and  plausible. 

Miss  Black  took  Miss  Ammon  into  full  confidence  one 
day  over  an  oyster  plant  steak,  at  the  Pure  Food  Restaurant. 
"We  have  come  to  a  perfect  understanding,  dear  Julia," 
she  said.  "He  knows  now  that  he  is  my  affinity,  and  that 
I  am  his.  He  is  to  cease  living  a  lie  at  his  so-called  home. 
He  is  to  take  a  room  somewhere  in  my  neighborhood  and  I 
am  to  help  him  with  his  great  work,  The  Life  of  the  Good 
Gray  Poet.'  He  will  come  every  evening  to  my  house  and 
we  will  talk  over  his  work  for  the  next  day.  Isn't  it  fortu- 
nate that  I  am  living  with  mamma,  so  that  I  can  receive  him 
with  perfect  propriety  ?" 

"Aren't  you  afraid  of  him?"  asked  Julia. 
"Afraid  of  him,  why?" 

"Why,  you  know.  Everybody  says  that  since  he  was 
hit  on  the  head  he  has  been  as  crazy  as  a  loon." 

"It's  a  slander!  A  vile  slander!"  replied  Miss  Black, 
her  eyes  blazing.  "He's  the  gentlest,  noblest,  sanest 
creature  in  the  world.  I'd  like  to  have  anybody  say  that 
to  me!  Oh,  well,"  she  sighed,  resignedly,  "greatness  must 
always  pay  its  penalty,  I  suppose." 


62  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

Mr.  Lounsberry  did,  in  fact,  inform  his  wife  that  he  no 
longer  loved  her  and  that  he  had  found  his  affinity. 

"You  know  my  belief  in  such  matters,"  he  continued 
gently  but  firmly.  "It  would  be  doing  a  wrong  to  you  as 
well  as  to  myself,  were  I  to  continue  to  live  here  when  I  love 
another  woman." 

Mrs.  Lounsberry  threw  her  arms  about  her  husband's 
neck. 

"Frank,  dear,"  she  pleaded  tenderly.  "Listen  to  me, 
listen  to  reason,  for  God's  sake.  Can't  you  see  that  you 
are  not  yourself?  Don't  leave  me  and  the  boys.  Won't 
you,  darling,  just  to  satisfy  me,  let  me  call  in  a  doctor?" 

He  was  not  the  least  affected  by  her  plea.  He  put  her 
away  from  him,  saying,  "It's  useless.  I  never  was  in  better 
health  in  my  life.  Now,  don't  make  a  scene;  it  will  only 
make  you  feel  bad.  There  is  only  one  way  to  do  these 
things — and  that  is,  to  have  them  over  as  quickly  and  with 
as  little  fuss  as  possible." 

The  unfortunate  wife  had  already  consulted  a  doctor, 
a  famous  specialist,  who  advised  her  to  excite  her  husband 
as  little  as  possible  and,  at  all  hazards,  to  avoid  a  violent  out- 
break. She  therefore  stood  by  silently  while  he  loaded  his 
favorite  books  and  a  few  of  his  personal  belongings  into  an 
express  wagon.  She  thought  her  heart  would  break  when 
she  saw  him  pass  the  hand-organ  into  a  cab  and  climb  in 
after  it. 

Mr.  Lounsberry  and  the  red-faced  little  woman  now 
became  inseparable.  He  awaited  on  the  street  each  morn- 
ing to  accompany  her  to  the  book  shop  and  escorted  her 
home  evenings.  They  even  attended  the  services  at  Every- 
body's Church  together,  as  well  as  the  lectures  by  M. 
Magasarin,  and  a  series  of  theosophical  gatherings.  During 
this  happy  period  of  her  life,  indeed,  Miss  Black  fairly 
reveled  in  the  intellectual  existence.  Whenever  her  duties 
would  allow,  she  ran  about  with  her  affinity  to  the  lectures 
of  the  University  Extension,  listening  with  crude,  wonder- 
ing, half  perception  to  learned  discourses  on  such  subjects 
as  "The  Paleozoic  Era,"  "The  Evolution  of  the  Leafy  Plant," 


MISS  BLACK'S  AFFINITY  63 

and  "The  Laws  of  King  Minos."  She  took  copious  notes, 
which  she  never  read,  of  all  these  lectures. 

Chicago  is  a  big,  busy  city ;  wickeder  than  Babylon ; 
more  bizarre  than  Paris ;  freer  than  Sybaris.  It  soon  took 
as  a  matter  of  course  the  comradeship  of  the  little  woman 
with  the  red  face  and  the  horizontal  umbrella  and  the  clean- 
shaven lawyer  who  resembled  William  Jennings  Bryan. 
When  they  passed  on  the  street,  talking  eagerly  and  volubly, 
Chicago  smiled,  but  did  not  look  back  over  its  shoulder.  It 
was  generally  whispered  that  Lounsberry  was  a  trifle 
cracked,  and  his  friends  thought  it  a  good  thing  that  he  had 
some  one  to  take  so  good  care  of  him,  who  could  manage 
him  so  easily.  His  legal  business  ceased,  of  course,  but 
he  surprised  the  whole  town  by  appearing  in  court  to  defend 
a  suit  brought  against  himself.  He  conducted  the  case  with 
all  his  old-time,  well-known  brilliancy — and  won. 

The  "Life  of  the  Good  Gray  Poet"  did  not  progress, 
nevertheless,  on  account  of  Mr.  Lounsberry's  severe  head- 
aches which,  he  frequently  declared  to  Miss  Black,  threatened 
to  drive  him  crazy.  Miss  Ammon,  who  often  met  the  law- 
yer at  her  friend's  house,  and  who  had  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  he  was  the  sanest  man  on  earth,  suggested  Faith 
Cure.  Miss  Black  therefore  paid  a  fee  of  fifty  dollars  to 
a  healer  and  the  treatment  was  begun.  Mr.  Lounsberry 
was  informed  by  a  plump,  pretty  brunette  whom  he  went  to 
see  in  the  old  Inter-Ocean  building,  that  his  headaches  were 
the  result  of  a  claim  which  must  be  demonstrated ;  that  they 
would  grow  less  and  less  violent  and  finally  disappear  en- 
tirely. 

A  tall,  sallow  man,  who  emerged  from  an  inner  office, 
listened  solemnly  and  nodded  approval. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  happy !"  cried  Miss  Black,  with  utter  con- 
fidence, as  they  went  down  in  the  elevator.  "Aren't  you 
glad  you  came?    Don't  you  feel  better  already?" 

Mr.  Lounsberry  declared  that  he  did,  and  he  planned 
an  extra  amount  of  work  for  the  morrow.  Strangely 
enough,  he  was  quite  free  from  pain  all  that  night,  and  for 


64  THE  SHRINE  OF  yESCULAPIUS 

three  days.  But  on  the  fourth  day  his  headache  returned 
with  renewed  violence. 

Miss  Black  called  again  on  the  healer,  who  informed 
her  that  the  malady  had  been  cured,  but  that  the  present 
affliction  was  the  result  of  "chemicalization,"  which  required 
a  second  demonstration.  After  consulting  with  Miss  Am- 
nion, the  little  woman  concluded  to  try  osteopathy. 

"I'll  do  whatever  you  say,  Cecile,"  replied  the  lawyer, 
submissively.  "Thy  pathies  shall  be  my  pathies,  thy  isms 
my  isms,  and  thy  schism  my  schism." 

"Oh!"  she  gurgled,  as  she  looked  fondly  and  proudly 
upon  him,  "what  scintillating  wit,  what — what  exuberance ! 
We  must  not  allow  that  great  brain  to  be  dulled  or  wearied 
by  pain." 

The  lawyer  was  most  submissive  to  Miss  Black's  least 
wish.  He  treated  her  with  an  exaggerated  reverence  that 
would  have  been  amusing  had  it  not  been  pathetic,  and  he 
was  fond  of  talking  with  bated  breath,  to  whomsoever  would 
listen,  of  her  beauty,  her  intellect,  and  her  divine  graces. 

"She  has  the  carriage  of  a  queen,"  he  whispered  one 
day  to  the  proprietor  of  the  Old  Book  Shop,  "the  dignity  of 
an  empress,  sir,  and  the  intellect  of  a  goddess.  Why,  sir, 
if  this  were  a  civilized  community,  your  dingy  little  shop 
would  be  crowded  all  day  to  the  doors  by  people  anxious  to 
hear  the  pearls  of  wisdom  that  drop  from  her  peerless  lips !" 

The  osteopathist  concluded  that  Mr.  Lounsberry's  head- 
aches proceeded  from  an  injury  to  the  medulla  oblongata, 
and  he  guaranteed  a  cure  by  a  course  of  scientific  manipu- 
lation, especially  applied  to  the  base  of  the  brain.  The  treat- 
ment extended  over  two  months  and  cost  Miss  Black  two 
hundred  dollars  from  her  small  savings.  The  patient  made 
no  inquiry  as  to  who  was  paying  for  these  various  experi- 
ments ;  it  is  doubtful,  indeed,  if  it  even  occurred  to  him  that 
money  was  a  necessary  element  in  the  case.  Miss  Black  drew 
the  required  amount  from  her  bank  with  a  mingled  feeling  of 
privilege  and  fear ;  privilege  that  she,  blessed  among  women, 
had  been  selected  to  restore  a  genius  to  health,  and  that  fear 
of  the  proverbial  rainy  day  which  always  looms  up,  like  a 


MISS  BLACK'S  AFFINITY  65 

cloud,  when  one  is  compelled  to  attack  a  savings  account. 
She  had  now  four  hundred  dollars  left  out  of  the  paltry  sum 
which  she  had  been  ten  years  getting  together. 

And  all  this  time  Mrs.  Lounsberry  was  bearing  her 
burden  with  outward  courage  and  dignity,  but  with  un- 
utterable inward  sorrow.  The  members  of  her  church 
flocked  about  her  with  genuine  sympathy,  and  her  pastor,  a 
Christian  of  the  old-fashioned  sort,  gave  her  great  conso- 
lation. 

"Courage,  dear  sister,  courage,"  the  saintly  old  man 
would  say.  "I  have  taken  your  matter  to  the  Throne  of 
Grace,  and  I  have  felt  a  definite  sense  of  answer  to  prayer. 
I  am  sure  that  all  will  come  right  in  the  end.  And  when 
your  husband's  reason  is  restored,  you  must  make  greater 
efforts  to  bring  him  into  the  fold." 

Mr.  Lounsberry  tired  at  last  of  the  osteopathist,  and 
gave  vent  to  his  gathered  irritability  in  an  outburst  of  such 
effective  denunciation  that  the  doctor,  insulted,  threw  up  the 
case. 

"He's  a  fraud,"  he  told  Miss  Black.  "A  malignant 
hypochondriac.  There's  nothing  the  matter  with  him.  His 
headaches  are  merely  a  pose  to  excite  sympathy.  As  for 
his  being  insane,  as  some  say,  he's  no  more  crazy  than  I  am. 
He's  ugly,  that's  all.  Don't  ever  bring  him  to  my  office 
again." 

Now,  it  happened  that,  owing  to  the  rapid  depletion  of 
their  bank  account,  Miss  Black  and  her  mother  began  to 
look  about  for  some  method  to  reduce  their  living  expenses. 
They  solved  the  question  by  putting  up  a  folding  bed  in 
their  tiny  parlor  and  taking  in  a  roomer  to  occupy  the  front 
hall  bedroom.  This  gentleman,  a  medical  student  of  more 
than  ordinary  intelligence,  became  deeply  interested  in  Miss 
Black's  caller,  from  a  professional  standpoint. 

"My  headache,  sir,"  the  latter  explained  to  Mr.  Kin- 
naird,  "I  attribute  to  hard  study  and  the  long  wear  and  tear 
of  unpleasant  domestic  friction.  Under  the  ministrations 
of  this  angel  of  light  and  in  the  same  influence  of  her 
society,  I  expect  that  all  pain  will  pass  away  from  my 


66  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

brain  as  mists  are  swept  away  by  the  beams  of  the  morn- 
ing sun.  Would  you  believe  it,  sir,  that  my  wife  came  to 
see  me  again  to-day  and  besought  me  to  return  to  those — ah 
— conditions  to  which  I  owe  my  present  nervous  state? 
And  she  was  accompanied  by  a  hypocritical  priest!  My 
God,  sir !  Are  we  living  in  the  middle  ages,  that  we  should 
turn  our  minds  into  asses  and  put  priests  in  the  saddle?" 

"But  how  about  that  blow  on  your  head?"  asked  Mr. 
Kinnaird.  "Did  you  feel  sick  at  the  stomach  for  several 
days  after  it?" 

"Oh,  that  was  a  mere  nothing — the  brush  of  a  feather. 
The  effects  of  that  passed  off  immediately." 

"Mr.  Lounsberry  has  appeared  in  court  since  then,"  ex- 
plained Miss  Black,  "and  confounded  some  of  the  most  bril- 
liant lawyers  in  this  great  city." 

Nevertheless,  Mr.  Kinnaird  studied  the  case  deeply, 
read  considerably  on  it,  and  consulted  with  the  distinguished 
surgeon,  Henger. 

"It's  more  than  likely,"  he  explained  to  Miss  Black, 
a  few  days  later,  "that  there's  a  small  piece  of  bone  pressing 
down  on  the  brain.  Now,  by  an  operation  known  as  tre- 
panning, we  could  lift  out  a  piece  of  the  skull,  remove  the 
offending  fragment,  and  effect  a  radical  cure  by  taking  away 
the  cause." 

"I  don't  believe  in  doctors,"  replied  Miss  Black,  her 
red  face  turning  pale.  "I — I  have  thought  of  taking  him 
to  the  Reverend  Alexander  Dowie.  He  says  that  all  doc- 
tors are  imps  of  darkness — spawn  of — of — the  Bad  Place. 
Would  the  operation  be  dangerous?" 

"Of  course,  there  is  an  element  of  danger  in  all  opera- 
tions. There's  an  element  of  danger  in  eating,  or  going  to 
sleep.  But  this  is  not  a  dangerous  operation,  comparatively 
speaking." 

"How  much  would  it  cost?"  faltered  the  little  woman. 

"Oh,  four  or  five  hundred  dollars.  According  to  how 
much  he  had  to  pay.  Great  surgeons,"  laughed  the  student, 
with  anticipatory  relish  borrowed  from  his  own  hopes,  "are 


MISS  BLACK'S  AFFINITY  fy 

merciful.    They   do    not   usually   mortgage   your    future. 
They  only  aim  to  take  what  you  have." 

Miss  Black  thought  of  the  bank-book  and  her  cheek 
again  turned  pale. 

The  more  the  student  thought  about  the  matter,  the 

more  enthusiastic  he  became.    He  bought  a  papier-mache 

skull  and  trepanned  it  in  his  own  room,  working  up  a  little 

sliver  on  the  under  side  of  the  piece  taken  out.     This  he 

showed  to  Miss  Black,  explaining  graphically  the  effects 

of  such  an  object  pressing  upon  the  brain.     She  shuddered 

as  she  listened  and  became  convinced.    The  sliver  began  to 

haunt  her.     She  woke  up  in  the  night  and  seemed  to  feel  it 

in  her  own  brain,  as  plainly  as  if  it  had  been  a  cinder  in  her 

eye.     She  talked  so  much  about  it  to  Mr.  Lounsberry  that 

he,  too,  at  last  accepted  the  theory  and  finally  became  able 

to  place  his  finger  over  the  exact  spot  where  the  sliver  was. 

By  pressing  down  at  this  point,  he  declared  that  he  could 

feel  something  sharp  push  down  into  his  gray  matter,  as 

though  it  were  a  thorn,  causing  the  most  acute  pain. 

^  At  such  times  Miss  Black  would  spring  toward  him 
crying. 

"Don't!  don't!  You  may  reach  a  vital  spot  and  kill 
yourself." 

Arrangements  were  made  for  the  operation,  through 
Mr.  Kinnaird,  who  obtained  the  coveted  privilege  of  admin- 
istering the  ether.  The  sum  of  four  hundred  dollars  was 
settled  upon,  to  cover  the  surgeon's  fee  and  all  the  expenses 
of  the  hospital.  Miss  Black  took  her  last  dollar  from  the 
bank  and  carried  away  the  useless  book,  without  telling  her 
mother.  Mr.  Lounsberry  walked  over  to  the  West  Side 
Hospital  one  bright  morning  with  the  little  woman,  and 
parted  from  her  in  the  parlor. 

She  was  agitated  almost  to  the  point  of  hysteria,  as 
she  stood  looking  up  at  him,  the  tears  chasing  each  other 
down  her  upturned  face.  Mr.  Lounsberry  was  as  utterly 
nonchalant  as  though  he  were  going  to  a  business  confer- 
ence. 

"Come  around  this  afternoon,"  he  said,  "and  I'll  tell 


(58  THE  SHRINE  OF  /ESCULAPIUS 

you  all  about  it.  I'll  be  up  in  a  couple  of  days  and  then 
we'll  take  up  the  'Life  of  the  Good  Gray  Poet'  in  earnest. 
When  I  get  this  sliver  out  of  my  brain,  I'll  be  a  new  man." 

She  went  away  to  her  work  with  a  heavy  heart,  but  at 
noon  she  was  back  again. 

"How  is  he?"  she  asked  of  a  pretty  nurse,  in  a  white 
cap.    "Is  he  cured?" 

"Cured?"  asked  the  nurse.  "Oh,  you  are  the  wife  of 
the  man  who  was  operated  on  this  morning  for  appendi- 
citis.    Wait,  I'll  telephone  upstairs." 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Lounsberry,  the  man  who  had  a  sliver  of 
bone  in  his  brain." 

"Oh,  the  trepanning  operation.  Sit  down  a  moment, 
and  I'll  find  out  for  you." 

After  a  pause  of  ten  minutes,  which  seemed  ten  hours 
to  Miss  Black,  the  nurse  returned  smiling. 

"Was  I  gone  long?"  she  asked.  "Miss  Reeves  called 
me  in  to  help  her  turn  her  patient  over.  Mr.  Lounsberry 
has  not  come  out  of  the  ether  yet.  Can't  you  come  back 
about  four  o'clock?" 

At  three  Miss  Black  complained  to  her  employer  of  feel- 
ing ill,  and  took  the  elevated  over  to  the  hospital.  As  she 
ran  up  the  steps,  she  saw  Dr.  Henger's  carriage  standing 
by  the  curb,  and  her  heart  sank  within  her.  To  her  mind, 
there  was  but  one  patient  in  all  the  great  building,  and  the 
presence  of  the  surgeon  betokened  ill. 

She  met  Dr.  Henger  coming  out  of  the  door  and 
grasped  him  by  the  arm. 

"How  is  he?"  she  asked  hoarsely. 

The  great  man  did  not  recognize  her. 

"Eh,  your  husband?"  he  asked.  "The  man  who  was 
hurt  by  a  street  car?" 

"No,  no,  I'm — that  is  to  say,  I  mean  Mr.  Lounsberry." 

"Oh,  the  trepanning  case!"  The  surgeon  rubbed  his 
hands  with  satisfaction.  "Splendid!  splendid!  A  perfect 
success,  radical  cure.    He  asked  for  his  wife  an  hour  ago. 


MISS  BLACK'S  AFFINITY  69 

She's  with  him  now.  He  was  in  the  middle  of  Alderman 
Van  Benthuysen's  name  when  he  was  hit.  He  finished  it 
when — God  bless  my  soul,  what  ails  the  woman?" 


MR.  DOOLEY  ON  THE  PRACTISE  OF 
MEDICINE 

BY 

FINLEY  PETER  DUNNE 


7i 


MR.  DOOLEY  ON  THE  PRACTISE  OF  MEDICINE 


w 


HAT'S  Christyan  Science?"  asked  Mr.  Hennessy. 
"  'Tis  wan  way  iv  gettin'  th'  money,"  said  Mr. 
Dooley. 

"But  what's  it  like  ?"  asked  Mr.  Hennessy. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Dooley,  "ye  have  something  th'  mat- 
ther  with  ye.    Ye  have  a  leg  cut  off." 

"Th'  Lord  save  us,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hennessy. 

"That  is,  ye  think  ye  have,"  Mr.  Dooley  went  on.  "Ye 
think  ye  have  a  leg  cut  off.  Ye  see  it  goin'  an'  says  ye  to 
ye'ersilf:  'More  expinse.  A  wooden  leg.'  Ye  think  ye've 
lost  it.  But  ye're  wrong.  Ye're  well  as  iver  ye  was.  Both 
legs  is  attached  to  ye,  on'y  ye  don't  know  it.  Ye  call  up 
a  Christyan  Scientist,  or  ye're  wife  does.  Not  manny  men 
is  Christyan  Scientists,  but  near  all  women  is,  in  wan  way 
or  another.  Ye'er  wife  calls  up  a  Christyan  Scientist,  an' 
says  she:  'Me  husband  thinks  he's  lost  a  leg,'  she  says. 
'Nonsense,'  says  th'  Christyan  Scientist,  she  says,  f'r  she's  a 
woman,  too.  'Nonsense,'  says  she.  'No  man  iver  lost  a 
leg,'  she  says.  'Well,  'tis  sthrange,'  says  the  v/ife.  'He's 
mislaid  it  thin,'  she  says,  'f'r  he  hasn't  got  it,'  says  she. 
'He  on'y  thinks  he's  lost  it,'  says  th'  Christyan  Scientist. 
'Lave  him  think  it  on  again,'  she  says.  'Lave  him  ray- 
mimber,'  she  says,  'they'se  no  such  thing  in  th'  wurruld,' 
she  says,  'as  pain  an'  injury,'  she  says.  'Lave  him  to  put 
his  mind  hard  to  it,'  she  says,  'an',  I'll  put  mine,'  she  says, 
'an'  we'll  all  put  our  minds  to  it,  an'  'twill  be  all  r-right,' 
she  says.  So  she  thinks  an'  th'  wife  thinks  an'  ye  think  th' 
best  ye  know  how  an'  afther  awhile  a  leg  comes  peepin'  out 
with  a  complete  set  iv  tootsies  an'  be  th'  time  th'  las'  thought 
is  expinded,  ye  have  a  set  iv  as  well  matched  gambs  as  ye 
iver  wore  to  a  picnic.  But  ye  mustn't  stop  thinkin'  or  ye'er 
wife  or  th'  Christyan  Scientist.     If  wun  iv  ye  laves  go  th' 

73 


74  THE  SHRINE  OF  JESCULAPIUS 

rope  th'  leg'll  get  discouraged  an'  quit  growin'.  Many  a 
man's  sprouted  a  limb  on'y  to  have  it  stop  between  th'  ankle 
an'  th'  shin  because  th'  Christyan  Scientist  was  called  away 
to  see  what  ailed  th'  baby." 

"Sure,  'tis  all  foolishness,"  said  Mr.  Hennessy. 

"Well,  sir,  who  can  tell?"  said  Mr.  Dooley.  "If  it 
wasn't  f'r  medical  progress,  I'd  be  sure  th'  Christyan  Scien- 
tists were  wrong.  But  th'  doctor  who  attinded  me  when  I 
was  young'd  be  thought  as  loonatical  if  he  was  alive  to-day 
as  th'  mos'  Christyan  Scientist  that  iver  rayjooced  a  swellin' 
over  a  long  distance  tillyphone.  He  inthrajooced  near  th' 
whole  parish  into  this  life  iv  sin  an'  sorrow,  he  gave  us 
calomel  with  a  shovel,  bled  us  like  a  polis  captain,  an'  niver 
thought  anny  medicine  was  good  if  it  didn't  choke  ye  goin' 
down.  I  can  see  him  now  as  he  come  up  dhriven'  an  ol' 
gray  an'  yellow  horse  in  a  buggy.  He  had  whiskers  that 
he  cud  tie  in  a  knot  round  his  waist,  an'  him  an'  th'  priest 
was  th'  on'y  two  men  in  th'  neighborhood  that  carried  a 
goold  watch.  He  used  to  say  'twas  th'  healthiest  parish  in 
th'  wurrul,  barrin'  hangings  an'  thransportations  an'  thim 
come  in  Father  Hickey's  province.  Ivrybody  thought  he 
was  a  gr-eat  man  but  they  wudden't  lave  him  threat  a  spavin 
in  these  days.  He  was  catch-as-catch-can  an'  he'd  tackle 
annything  fr'm  pneumony  iv  th'  lungs  to  premachure  bald- 
ness. He'd  niver  heerd  iv  mickrobes  an'  nather  did  I  till 
a  few  years  ago  whin  I  was  tol'  they  was  a  kind  iv  animals 
or  bugs  that  crawled  around  in  ye  like  spiders.  I  see 
pitchers  iv  thim  in  th'  pa-apers  with  eyes  like  poached  eggs 
till  I  dhreamed  wan  night  I  was  a  hayloft  full  of  bats.  Thin 
th'  dock  down  th'  sthreet  set  me  r-right.  He  says  th' 
mickrobes  is  a  vigitable  an'  ivry  man  is  like  a  conservatory 
full  iv  millyons  iv  these  potted  plants.  Some  ar're  good  f'r 
ye  an'  some  ar're  bad.  Whin  th'  chube  roses  an'  geranyums 
is  flourishin'  an'  liftin'  their  dainty  petals  to  th'  sun,  ye're 
healthy;  but  whin  th'  other  flowers  gets  th'  best  iv  these 
nosegays,  'tis  time  to  call  in  a  doctor.  Th'  doctor  is  a  kind 
iv  gardiner  f'r  ye.  'Tis  his  business  f'r  to  encourage  th' 
good  mickrobes,  makin'  two  pansies  grow  where  wan  grew 


MR.  DOOLEY  ON  THE  PRACTISE  OF  MEDICINE      75 

befure  an'  to  hoe  out  th'  Canajeen  thistle  an'  th'  milk  wood. 

"Well,  that  sounds  all  r-right,  an'  I  sind  f'r  a  doctor. 
'Dock,'  says  I,  'me  vilets  ar're  thinnin'  out  an'  I  feel  as 
though  I  was  full  iv  sage  brush,'  I  says.  Th'  dock  puts  a 
glass  chube  in  me  mouth  an'  says,  'Don't  bite  it.'  'D'ye 
think  I'm  a  glass  eater?'  says  I,  talkin'  through  me  teeth 
like  a  Kerry  lawyer.  '.What's  it  f'r  ?'  I  says.  'To  take  ye'er 
timprachoor,'  says  he.  While  I  have  th'  chube  in  me  mouth 
he  jabs  me  thumb  with  a  needle  an'  laves  the  room.  He 
comes  back  about  th'  time  I'm  r-ready  to  strangle  an'  re- 
moves th'  chube.  'How  high  does  she  spout?'  says  I. 
'Ninety-nine,'  says  he.  'Good  hivens,'  says  I.  'Don't  come 
near  me,  dock,  or  ye'll  be  sun  sthruck,'  I  says.  'I've  just 
examined  ye'er  blood,'  he  says.  'Ye're  full  iv  weeds,'  he 
says.  Be  that  time  I'm  scared  to  death,  an'  I  say  a  few 
prayers,  whin  he  fixes  a  hose  to  me  chest  an'  begins  listen- 
in'.  'Annything  goin'  on  inside  ?'  says  I.  '  'Tis  ye'er  heart,' 
says  he.  'Glory  be,'  says  I.  'What's  th'  matther  with  th' 
ol'  ingine?'  says  I.  'I  cud  tell  ye,'  he  says,  'but  I'll  have  to 
call  in  Dock  Vinthricle,  th'  specialist,'  he  says..  'I  oughtn't 
be  lookin'  at  ye'er  heart  at  all,'  he  says.  'I  niver  larned  be- 
low th'  chin  an'  I'd  be  fired  be  th'  union  if  they  knew  I  was 
wurrukin'  on  th'  heart,'  he  says.  So  I  sinds  f'r  Dock 
Vinthricle  an'  th'  dock  climbs  me  chest  an'  listens  an'  thin 
he  says :  'They'se  something  th'  matther  with  his  lungs,  too,' 
he  says.  'At  times  they're  full  iv  air,  an'  again,'  he  says, 
'they  ain't,'  he  says.  'Sind  f'r  Bellows,'  he  says.  Bellows 
comes  and  pounds  me  as  though  I  was  a  roof  he  was 
shinglin',  an'  havin'  accidentally  hit  me  below  th'  belt,  he 
sinds  f'r  Dock  Laporrattemy.  Th'  Dock  sticks  his  finger 
into  me  as  far  as  th'  knuckle.  'What's  that  f'r?'  says  I. 
'That's  O'Hannigan's  point,'  he  says.  'I  don't  see  it,'  says  I. 
'O'Hannigan  must  have  had  a  fine  sinse  iv  humor.'  'Did 
it  hurt?'  says  he.  'Not,'  says  I,  'as  much  as  though  ye'd 
used  an  awl,'  says  I,  'or  a  chisel,'  I  says,  'but,'  I  says,  'it 
didn't  tickle,'  I  says. 

"He  shakes  his  head  an'  goes  out  iv  th'  room  with  th' 
others  an'  they  talk  it  over  at  tin  dollars  a  minyet  while 


76  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

I'm  layin'  there  at  two  dollars  a  day— docked.  Whin  they 
come  back,  wan  iv  thim  says :  'This  here  is  a  mos'  inthrestin' 
case  an'  we  must  have  th'  whole  class  take  a  look  into  it,' 
says  he.  'It'  means  me,  Hinnissy.  'Dock/  he  says,  'ye  will 
remove  its  brain.  Vinthricle,  ye  will  have  its  heart,  an' 
Bellows,  ye  will  take  its  lungs.  As  f'r  me/  he  says,  'I 
will  add  wan  more  vermiform  appendix  to  me  belt/  says  he. 
'  Tis  sthrange  how  our  foolish  pre-decessors/  says  he,  'niver 
got  onto  the  dangers  iv  th'  vermiform  appendix/  he  says. 
'I  have  no  doubt  that  that's  what  kilt  Methausalem,'  he  says. 
So  they  mark  out  their  wurruk  on  me  with  a  piece  of  red 
chalk  an'  if  I  get  well,  I  look  like  a  rag  carpet.  Sometimes 
they  lave  things  in  ye,  Hinnissy.  I  knowed  a  man  wanst, 
Mooriarty  was  his  name — Tim  Mooriarty,  an'  he  had  to  be 
hem-stitched  hurridly,  because  they  was  goin'  to  be  a  ball 
game  that  day  an'  they  locked  up  in  him  two  sponges,  a 
saw,  an  ice  pick,  a  goold  watch  an'  a  pair  iv  curlin'  irons 
belongin'  to  wan  iv  th'  nurses.  He  tol'  me  he  didn't  feel 
well,  but  he  didn't  think  anything  iv  it  till  he  noticed  that 
he  jingled  whin  he  walked. 

"That's  what  they  do  with  ye  nowadays,  Hinnissy. 
Ivry  time  I  go  into  Dock  Cassidy's  office,  he  gives  me  a  look 
that  makes  me  wisht  I'd  wore  a  suit  of  chain  armor.  His 
eyes  seem  to  say,  'Can  I  come  in  ?'  Between  th'  Christyan 
Scientists  an'  him,  'tis  a  question  iv  whether  ye  want  to 
be  threated  like  a  loonytic  or  like  a  can  iv  presarved  vigita- 
bles.  Father  Kelly  says  th'  styles  iv  medicin  changes  like 
th'  styles  iv  hats.  Whin  he  was  a  boy,  they  give  ye  quinine 
f'r  whatever  ailed  ye,  an'  now  they  give  ye  sthrychnine  an' 
next  year  they'll  be  givin'  ye  proosic  acid  maybe.  He  says 
they're  findin'  new  things  th'  matther  with  ye  ivry  day,  an' 
ol'  things  that  have  to  be  taken  out,  ontil  th'  time  is  comin' 
whin  not  more  thin  half  iv  us'll  be  rale  an'  th'  rest'll  be 
rubber.  He  says  they  ought  to  enforce  th'  law  iv  assault 
with  a  deadly  weepin'  again  th'  doctors.  He  says  that  if 
they  knew  less  about  pizen  an'  more  about  gruel  an'  opened 
fewer  patients  an'  more  windows,  they'd  not  be  so  manny 
Christyan  Scientists.     He  says  th'  difl'rence  between  Christ- 


MR.  DOOLEY  ON  THE  PRACTISE  OF  MEDICINE      77 

yan  Scientists  an'  doctors  is  that  Christyan  Scientists  thinks 
they'se  no  such  things  as  disease  an'  doctors  thinks  there 
ain't  annything  else.    An  there  ye  ar-re." 

"What  d'ye  think  about  it?"  asked  Mr.  Hennessy. 

"I  think,"  said  Mr.  Dooley,  "that  if  th'  Christyan  Scien- 
tists had  some  science  an'  th'  doctors  more  Christyanity,  it 
wouldn't  make  anny  diff'rence  which  ye  called  in — if  ye  had 
a  good  nurse." 


THE  ETIOLOGY,   DIAGNOSIS,   AND 
TREATMENT  OF  THE  PREVA- 
LENT EPIDEMIC  OF 
QUACKERY 

BY 

GEORGE  H.  GOULD,  A.  M.,  M.  D. 


79 


THE  ETIOLOGY,  DIAGNOSIS,  AND  TREATMENT 

OF  THE  PREVALENT  EPIDEMIC  OF 

QUACKERY* 


_  .  IOU  have  all  heard  of  the  doctor  who  would  never 
eat  roast  duck  because  the  impolite  animal  had 
m^J  always  been  so  personally  insulting  to  him  in  its 
^*^'  remarks.  Doubtless  you  may  wonder  if  I  am  not 
also  a  bit  impertinent  in  choosing  the  subject  of  quackery 
as  a  theme  of  talk  before  physicians  regularly  educated 
and  presumably  despising  irregularity  and  sectarian  medi- 
cine with  just  indignation.  I  assure  you  it  is  not  be- 
cause I  suspect  you  of  infidelity — at  least  of  a  very  pro- 
nounced type.  I  simply  wish  to  give  you  a  hint  of  the 
difficulties  and  temptations  you  will  encounter  when,  as 
physicians  loyal  to  science  and  modest  self-respect — no 
science,  you  know,  without  unselfishness  and  modesty — 
you  come  in  sharp  contact  with  the  evils  of  modern  sham 
medicine.  The  temptation  to  compromise  will  then  come 
with  subtle  but  decided  force.  I  said  I  would  not  suspect 
you  of  positive  infidelity,  but  as  science  always  consists  in 
finer  discriminations  and  the  recognitions  of  small  differ- 
ences that  escape  ordinary  observation,  so,  with  civilization, 
is  coming  the  influx  of  a  thousand  grades  of  deception  and 
fraud. 

The  question  is  always  suggested:  How  much  of  a 
quack  is  he  ?  You  may  have  no  doubt  about  Sharp  &  Co.'s 
Safe  Cure,  the  seventh  daughter  of  the  seventh  daughter, 
or  the  pictured  old  man  leering  at  you  from  the  theatrical 
bulletin  boards  with  Mephisto  grin  as  he  lovingly  clasps  to 
his  arms  a  bottle  of  sarsaparilla.    But  how  is  it  with  the 

♦An  address  delivered  by  invitation  of  the  Faculty  of  the 
Medical  Department  of  the  Buffalo  University,  before  the  Graduat- 
ing Class,  May  3,  1892. 

8l 


82  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

very  great  and  the  very  regular  Dr.  Supersuspect,  who 
writes  puffs  of  secret  proprietary  preparations,  or  who 
praises  one  especial  brand  of  wine — after  receiving  a  fine 
case  of  "samples" — as  a  sure  cure  for  influenza.  How 
about  Dr.  Slydog,  who  fills  his  reception-rooms  with  hos- 
pital dummies,  or  who  makes  his  patients  come  many  times 
for  the  relief  of  a  simple  ailment,  that  if  cured  at  once  would 
result  in  too  small  a  bill,  or  who  tells  them  all  their  symptoms 
are  very  serious,  but  that  he  has  caught  the  disease  just  in 
time?    Are  these  gentlemen  quacks? 

Dear  old  John  Phoenix  complained  that  our  use  of  ad- 
jectives was  entirely  too  vague.  If  a  man  were  called  good, 
he  wanted  to  know  just  exactly  how  good  you  thought  him. 
If  "Sally  who  lives  in  our  alley"  should  be  thought  beautiful, 
is  that  the  only  adjective  that  could  be  applied  to  Helen 
of  Troy?  John,  therefore,  proposed  to  prefix  a  number 
to  each  adjective  that  should  indicate  just  the  degree  of 
perfection  desired.  If,  in  your  calm  and  dispassionate 
opinion,  Sally  is  as  beautiful  as  Helen,  then  you  would  call 
her  ioo  beautiful,  though  perhaps  your  friends  might  think 
her  only  25  beautiful.  If  we  apply  the  principle  to  quacks, 
we  have  excellent  results  that  will  enable  us  to  ticket  them 
with  a  fair  degree  of  accuracy.  For  instance,  take  the 
street-corner  man  who  sells  Wizard  Oil  with  negro-minstrel 
accompaniment  and  four  white  stallions ;  he  gathers  a  lot 
of  money  from  the  crowd  and  then  drives  off  at  a  gallop ; 
he  is  evidently  a  100  quack,  pure  and  simple.  Take  Keeley 
next.  In  order  not  to  exaggerate,  let  us  put  him  at  98  or 
99.  Then  the  Hahnemannian  Knights,  according  to  the 
degree  of  their  medical  education  and  the  weakness  of 
their  potentizations,  may  be  ranged  from  95  to  97.  The 
metaphysical  Healers,  being  sincere  but  ignorant,  should 
find  their  level  at  80  or  70  perhaps.  Where  must  we  put 
the  "vivopaths,"  the  "physio-medicals,"  the  "bio-chemicals," 
the  "manupaths,"  and  all  the  motley  crowd,  unnamable, 
indescribable?  Where  should  we  grade  the  cunning  fel- 
lows that  are  clinging  desperately  to  the  coat-tails  of  re- 
spectability and  medicine,  but  who  are  neither  respectable 


THE  EPIDEMIC  OF  QUACKERY  83 

nor  medical,  except  in  externals?  Surely  not  under  50. 
Where  shall  be  placed  the  fellows  who  receive  "presents" 
from  drug-stores  and  instrument-makers,  who  write  thera- 
peutic articles  on  drugs  that  they  know  nothing  about,  or  run 
dispensaries  as  feeders  for  the  private  office?  Can  they 
come  nearer  than  25?  Then  the  "brilliant-operation  men" 
whom  the  newspaper  reporters  so  easily  fool,  the  college 
professors  and  hangers-on,  who  in  blowing  the  collegiate 
horn  pianissimo,  opportunely  emphasize  the  note  of  their 
own  private  and  personal  trombone  fortissimo !  In  all  such 
cases  the  individual  conscience  must  decide. 

Quackery  may  be  likened  to  a  poor  artificial  eye — 
everybody  else  can  see  through  it  except  the  patient. 
Strange  beyond  all  strangeness  is  the  gullibility  of  the 
patient,  his  devotion  to  his  duper.  Populus  vult  decipi — 
which  being  modernized  means,  the  mob  loves  humbug. 

But  however  disgusting,  the  fact  is  explainable.  The 
deep-seated  grudge  and  suspicion  of  the  populace  for  scien- 
tific medicine  and  the  secret  love  with  which  it  turns  toward 
its  magic-mongering  humbuggers  is  evolutionary  but  a 
survival  of  the  time  when  medicine  was  nothing  but  magic — 
an  atavistic  return  to  primitive  modes  of  thought  and 
therapeutic  superstition.  And  it  is  also  profoundly  pathetic, 
an  appallingly  serious  fact.  The  scientific  student  of  socio- 
logy watches  the  inrooting  of  institutional  weeds  and  fruit- 
less brush  that  the  future  civilization  must  grub  out  and 
burn  with  costly  labor  and  sacrifice.  The  student  of  hered- 
ity and  psychology  sees  the  hardening  of  modes  of  thought 
and  habit  that  must  bring  only  pain,  or  misapplied  or  use- 
less function.  The  sincere  physician  sees  disease  permeat- 
ing unborn  babes,  and  scientific  progress  crippled  and  un- 
utilized by  reason  of  popular  perversity. 

But  a  further  explanation  of  the  peculiar  and  re- 
juvenated power  of  modern  medical  charlatanism  consists 
in  the  fact  that  it  is  not  only  a  survival  of  half-extinguished 
medieval  fires,  flaming  up  with  temporary  and  dying  bril- 
liancy, it  is  also  a  "combine"  with  modern  civilized  money- 
making  and  unscrupulous  politics.    It  is  not  only  an  atavism, 


84  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

it  is  also  an  avatarism, — present-day  cupidity  is  engrafting 
itself  upon  ancient  superstition, — a  marriage  of  medieval 
magic  mummery  and  money-making,  so  that  the  sly  cun- 
ning of  the  politician  uses  the  stupid  monkey's  paw  to  pull 
the  chestnuts  of  profit  out  of  the  fire  of  human  suffering. 

Nowhere  else  is  this  fact  so  certainly  seen  as  in  the 
history  and  actual  outworkings  of  that  consummate  example 
of  civilized  quackery  called  Homeopathy.  An  hour's  study 
of  Hahnemann's  works  would  convince  any  convincible  per- 
son that  this  sorry  specimen  of  nineteenth-century  medieval- 
ism is  a  disgrace  to  civilization ;  and  yet  it  is  fashionable. 
Laughed  out  of  Europe,  it  has  sought  and  found  a  home 
among  Americans,  infinitely  receptive  of  every  form  of 
opera  bouffe  whimsicality  and  rampant  rascality.  If  its  lay 
adherents  had  the  faintest  conception  of  the  hideous  absurdi- 
ties on  which  it  is  built,  and  the  trickery  by  which  it  lives, 
they  would  be  sickened  with  disgust.  The  distinctive  prin- 
ciples that  make  it  differ  from  scientific  medicine  are  the 
following  delectable  Hahnemannian  hocuspocuses : 

i.  The  cause  of  human  disease  is  either  the  "miasm" 
of  sycosis,  of  syphilis,  or,  in  overwhelming  proportion,  the 
itch.1  With  marvelous  inconsistency,  however,  the  origin 
of  all  diseases  is  held  to  be  beyond  the  discovery  of  the 
human  mind,  supernatural,  hyperphysical,  a  disturbance 
of  our  "dynamis"  or  soul  life.  Diagnosis  of  disease  is, 
therefore,  impossible,  and  thus  the  very  first  requisite  of 
cure,  the  knowledge  of  the  cause  of  morbid  conditions,  is 
declared  incomprehensible  and  scorned. 

2.  The  more  you  weaken  or  dilute  a  drug,  the  stronger 
it  becomes.  Hahnemann's  own  words  are :  "A  homeopathic 
dose  is  augmented  by  increasing  the  quantity  of  fluid  in 
which  the  medicine  is  dissolved."  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes, 
who  has  tried  to  drown  this  pestiferous  sect  with  logic  and 
laughter  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  calculates  the  oceans 
of  water  in  which  a  grain  of  medicine  must  be  dissolved  in 
order  to  "potentize"  it  to  suit  Hahnemann.  Mathematically, 
the  thirtieth  "potentization"  would  require  a  body  of  water 
equal  in  amount  to  480,769  worlds  the  size  of  our  own  in 


THE  EPIDEMIC  OF  QUACKERY  85 

which  to  dilute  a  physiologic  dose  of  medicine.  Hahnemann 
himself  could  not  get  it  "thin  enough,"  and  so  finally  gave  all 
medicine  by  the  nose,  by  "olfaction,"  or  smelling.  And  yet 
medicine  so  thin  as  this  has  effects  that  only  a  madman 
would  dream  of  ascribing  to  it.  A  purely  inert  powder  like 
lycopodium,  administered  in  unimaginably  minute  doses, 
will,  according  to  Hahnemann,  produce  1,608  distinct  symp- 
toms, covering  a  period  of  fifty  days.  One-millionth  of  a 
millionth  of  a  millionth  of  a  grain  of  common  table  salt 
produced  1,349  symptoms,  including  headache,  vomiting, 
cardiac  and  lung  troubles,  disturbance  of  sight,  hearing,  and 

so  on. 

The  method  of  potentization  is  by  shaking.  Hahne- 
mann would  not  advise  above  two  shakings  for  fear  of  mak- 
ing the  dose  too  strong.  The  great  apostle  of  homeopathy, 
Lutze,  in  an  address  that  has  reached  at  least  forty-two 
editions,  says  that  an  old  man  was  cured  of  persistent 
vomiting  by  means  of  a  glass  of  water  that  Lutze  had  mag- 
netized by  simply  holding  it  in  his  right  hand.2 

3.  To  cure  a  disease,  give  a  medicine  that  in  a  well 
person  would  cause  the  disease,  or  something  as  near  to  it 
as  possible,— that  is  the  holy  nonsense  of  similia  similibus 
curantur.  By  a  grain  of  a  drug  diluted  in  millions  of  oceans 
of  water,  you  are  supposed  to  substitute  a  drug-disease 
for  the  natural  disease ;  and  the  "instinctive  vital  force"  will 
turn  and  "go  for"  the  natural  disease,  because  the  vital  force 
has,  as  it  were,  been  made  mad  and  spurred  on  by  the  drug 

disease.3 

It  is  worthy  of  this  lunatic  medicine  that,  reeking  with 
medievalism,  it  should  claim  to  be  the  "new  school,"  and 
call  "old  school"  that  system  which,  by  instruments  of  pre- 
cision, bacteriology,  experimental  research,  and  a  hundred 
scientific  methods  of  which  no  homeopathist  ever  originally 
dreamed,  is  endeavoring  to  cure  and  prevent  disease.  It  is 
worthy  of  this  "new  school"  that  it  should  pretend  to  prac- 
tise Hahnemannism,  while  secretly  using  any  medicinal 
agents  and  in  physiologic  doses.  Made  according  to  Hahne- 
mann's theories,  made  as  it  is  to-day  pretended  they  are 


86  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

made,  one  could  harmlessly  eat  a  stomachful  of  their  sugar 
pellets,  supposed  to  be  deadliest  poison. 

Not  an  instrument  of  precision,  not  a  bacillus,  not  a 
ptomain  or  leucomain,  not  a  single  measure  of  genuine 
therapeutics  or  experimental  research,  not  a  single  discovery 
of  the  thousands  that  make  up  the  body  of  modern  scientific 
medical  truth  and  power,  not  one,  not  one  was  ever  discov- 
ered by  a  homeopath.  Their  greatest  discovery  I  know  of 
is  that  the  human  iris,  by  its  tints  and  fleckings  and  colors, 
denotes  the  parts  and  the  particular  ailments  or  wounds  of 
the  patient's  body  diseased  or  injured.4  I  have  the  recent 
catalogue  of  a  homeopathic  drug  store  in  New  York,  in 
which,  to-day,  among  thousands  of  filthy  things,  or  rather 
names  of  things,  offered  for  sale  are  the  following  "morbific 
products,  nosodes,"  etc.,  offered  in  high  potencies : 

"Lice  insects,"  any  of  the  three  varieties,  "serpents," 
"tarantulas,"  and  "crickets."  You  can  buy  bottled  sunlight, 
nay,  the  sun  himself ;  or  you  have  the  choice  of  the  blue  rays, 
the  yellow  rays,  bottled  galvanism,  or  faradic  electricity, 
etc.  "Snow"  and  "ice"  or  "moonlight"  or  the  "east  wind," 
are  at  your  command  for  ten  cents  a  "graft" ;  it  is  not  the 
germs  or  material  particles,  but  the  disease  itself — Bright's, 
catarrh — any  that  you  will ;  but  you  can  also  have  the  "pus 
from  a  carbuncle,"  from  "Pott's  -disease,"  etc.  You  can 
buy  "Brahma"  himself,  it  seems  ;  or,  if  you  are  sad,  you  can, 
for  ten  cents,  have  "tears  of  a  young  girl  in  great  grief  and 
suffering" ;  the  "salt  of  the  brain  secreted  from  a  gentle- 
man's scalp  with  the  perspiration" ;  "a  silk  handkerchief 
eaten  by  a  cow  and  taken  from  the  stomach  in  a  hard  ball, 
during  the  three  years  she  never  had  a  calf."  One  of  the 
most  interesting  and  suggestive  items  of  the  catalogue  is 
simply  entitled  "Omnia." 

If  one  quotes  Hahnemann  or  the  elder  homeopathists, 
the  Hahnemannians  say  "this  is  misrepresentation,"  and  that 
"in  modern  progress  we  have  advanced  beyond  all  that." 
And  if  one  quotes  the  modern  homeopathists  more  versed  in 
the  art  of  mystification,  but  at  heart  equally  absurd,  it  is  said 
"these  do  not  represent  true  homeopathy."    I  have  quoted 


THE  EPIDEMIC  OF  QUACKERY  87 

both  ancient  and  modern  somewhat  extensively,  not  because 
I  have  any  special  grudge  against  this  School — far  from  it — 
but  because  its  adherents  are  the  most  numerous  and  co- 
herent body  of  sectarians,  and  because  they  have  succeeded, 
in  this  quack-ridden  land  in  befuddling  so  many  people 
sensible  in  other  matters.  In  a  simple  commercial  sense,  I 
ask,  would  it  pay  to  publish  catalogues  and  offer  for  sale 
combined  middle-aged  filth  and  modern  rascality,  if  there 
were  not  buyers? 

To-day  there  are  in  fifty-three  "institutes"  some  eight 
thousand  pitiable  victims  of  sin,  forming  four  times  a  day 
in  fifty-three  lines  ("jab-time")  to  receive  from  renegade 
medical  graduates  (hired  servants  of  an  ignorant  charlatan 
trading  upon  the  name  of  medicine)  the  hypodermatic  in- 
jection of  a  secret  substance.  They  are  guaranteed  a  per- 
manent cure  of  their  disease,  and  yet  a  large  proportion 
have  gone  through  the  cure  more  than  once,  and  a  large 
proportion  of  those  never  returning  a  second  time,  relapse. 
Despite  the  medical,  physiologic,  and  literary  barbarism  of 
the  Keeley  pamphlets,  despite  the  indirect  fiendish  cruelties 
of  the  system  (to  friends  of  patients  who  ruin  themselves  to 
raise  the  money — those  who  can't  pay  the  $100  "may,"  as 
at  least  one  of  the  superintendents  said,  "go  to  hell!") — 
despite  this  and  the  secrecy,  there  are  men,  otherwise  sharp- 
witted  and  intelligent,  who  are  crazy  in  advocacy  of  this 
pernicious  filth.  The  whole  affair  illustrates  well  the  pop- 
ular distrust  in  scientific  medicine,  and  the  popular  belief  in 
a  magical  short-cut  to  health  by  therapeutic  miracle. 
Young  Men's  Christian  Associations,  which  would  not 
think  of  listening  to  a  scientific  lecture  on  the  results  and 
cure  of  chronic  alcoholism,  open  their  doors  to  this  mon- 
strous guller ;  and  the  Jay  Gould  of  the  preaching  business, 
from  a  supposedly  Christian  pulpit,  calls  for  God's  benedic- 
tion on  the  most  unchristian  of  deviltries.  With  a  hound's 
chorus  of  a  thousand  newpapers,  the  Chicago  Tribune  leads 
in  this  infamous  exploitation  of  the  poor  drunkard.  So 
Perkin's  tractors  sprang  into  popularity,  and  so,  after  the 
speedy  burial  of  this  delusion,  others  will  periodically  spring 


88  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

up  in  obedience  to  popular  superstition,  prodded  and  nursed 
by  cunning  Mephistophelianism. 

The  danger  of  medical  lunacy  overtaking  the  people  is 
again  illustrated  by  the  vogue  of  the  creed  of  the  sorry  folk 
termed  metaphysical  or  divine  healers,  Christian  Scientists, 
Faith  or  Mind  Curers.  Would  you  think  it  possible  that 
people  right  here  in  the  United  States,  among  us  to-day, 
could  believe  that  "it  is  impossible  that  a  boil  is  inflamed  or 
painful,"  and  that  inflammation,  hemorrhage,  and  decom- 
position are  but  thoughts,  beliefs  ;6  and  that  carcinoma,  diph- 
theria, typhoid  fever,  what  you  will,  can  be  cured  by  prayer 
or  thinking  hard  at  it?  According  to  Dr.  Nichols,8  there 
are  within  the  limits  of  only  one  of  these  curious  sects  about 
thirty  organized  churches,  and  also  one  hundred  and  twenty 
societies  that  maintain  regular  services.  Twenty-three  in- 
stitutes, "scientific"  and  "metaphysical,"  are  advertised  in 
one  periodical.  The  number  of  practitioners  "regularly 
graduated"  reaches  thousands. 

Or,  take  another  national  disgrace,  the  patent-medicine 
shame.  Even  semi-barbarous  countries  have  forbidden  the 
entrance  within  their  limits  of  these  vile  concoctions,  de- 
vised to  empty  the  pockets  of  the  poor  of  money  while  filling 
their  bodies  with  poison.  Any  chemical  analyst  would  tell 
you  these  "non-alcoholic  bitters"  are  made  up  of  from  25  to 
50  per  cent,  of  the  vilest  alcohol.  Thousands  of  poor  babes 
have  been  killed  by  soothing  syrups — of  course,  containing 
no  opium  or  other  hypnotic — and  so  on,  so  on,  to  the  end 
of  the  list ! 

What  an  egregious  farce,  that  people  should  buy  a 
cure-all  containing  they  do  not  and  cannot  know  what ;  com- 
pounded they  do  not  know  by  whom — certainly  not,  of 
course,  by  a  physician ;  vouched  for  by  no  one — an  evident 
bit  of  hoodooism  to  get  money — a  shotgun  prescription  fired 
at  a  disease  in  the  abstract — an  unknown  remedy  for  an  un- 
known disease  from  an  unknown  hand!  And  yet  the  mil- 
lions upon  millions  of  dollars  invested  in  these  nostrums, 
and  thereby  annually  filched  from  the  ignorance  and  want 
of  the  poorest  and  neediest,  should  arouse  even  the  most 


THE  EPIDEMIC  OF  QUACKERY  89 

corrupt  of  legislators  to  put  a  stop  to  it  all.  The  superla- 
tive impudence  of  the  villainous  syndicates  is  degrading 
and  wrecking  the  once  noble  profession  of  pharmacy,  and 
turning  the  disgust  of  the  reader  and  traveler  into  nausea 
by  the  pollution  of  every  newspaper  and  of  every  landscape 
with  sickening  advertisements. 

And  now,  why  do  Keeleyism,  the  patent-medicine  and 
nostrum  sham,  the  homeopathic  disgrace,  and  a  thousand 
such  things  exist  among  us?  They  are,  of  course,  a  vital 
loss  and  a  vital  injury  to  the  community,  working  a  pollu- 
tion of  body  upon  an  idiocy  of  intellect,  by  a  Boss-Tweedism 
of  ethics.  Why  is  our  country  the  refuge  and  asylum  of  the 
survival  superstitions,  the  delirious  nonsense,  and  diabolical 
financial  schemes  that  Europe  has  kicked  out  in  wrathful 
disgust  ?  Simply  this  :  the  newspapers,  journals,  and  maga- 
zines dare  not  tell  the  truth  or  be  the  means  of  telling  the 
truth.  Every  magazine  or  serial  depends  for  existence  upon 
two  sources  of  revenue:  its  subscribers  and  its  advertisers. 
Let  a  journal  or  paper  publish  an  article  exposing  the  in- 
famy, and  "stop  my  subscription"  would  come  from  a  few 
dozen  people  whose  pet  fad  is  that  they  are  being  perse- 
cuted, and  that  they,  who  have  never  studied  such  things  a 
minute,  know  the  truth  about  physiology  and  disease  that 
thousands  of  scientific  men  have  been  deceived  in  finding. 
Hence  no  editor  dare  admit  an  article  showing  up  the 
shame  and  wrong  of  these  things.  Physicians  and  other 
scientific  men  have  nothing  to  sell,  nothing  to  advertise; 
but  all  quacks,  nostrum  venders,  and  patent-medicine  men 
have  something  to  sell,  and  their  advertisements  form  a 
tremendous  source  of  revenue  to  every  paper  in  the  land. 
Let  any  journal  reveal  to  its  readers  their  humbuggery, 
and  at  once  it  is  ruined. 

But  advertisements  maligning  and  misrepresenting 
their  opponents  are  put  into  the  reading  columns  as  reading 
notices,  neither  editor  nor  publisher  daring  to  disobey  the 
orders  of  the  syndicates.  A  well-known  illustration  is  the 
thousand-journal  denunciation  and  contumely,  for  the  past 
year  or  two,  of  the  druggists  who  dare  "substitute"  for  the 


90  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

quack  medicine  called  for  similar  and  equally  good  prepara- 
tions at  one-half  the  price  of  the  more  advertised  cure-all. 

Other  examples  of  journalistic  perversity  might  be 
cited ;  e.  g.,  Harper's  Magazine  a  year  or  two  ago  published 
an  article  by  a  professional  humorist,  claiming  that  homeo- 
pathy had  saved  modern  medicine  from  the  medieval  bar- 
barism of  filthy  medication  and  beastly  therapeutics.  Would 
it  insert  an  article  showing  that  the  reverse  is  the  truth, 
and  that  by  the  malicious  and  egregious  blunder  it  had 
grossly  insulted  every  physician  and  scientist,  civilization, 
and  truth  itself?  Would  the  newspapers  of  the  country, 
headed  by  the  North  American  Review,  give  one-hundredth 
of  the  free  advertising  to  a  reputable  or  scientific  institution 
for  the  treatment  of  chronic  alcoholism  that  they  have  given 
Keeley's  humbuggery,  and  out  of  which  that  shrewd  ad- 
vertiser is  making  millions  of  dollars? 

The  etiology  and  pathology  of  carcinoma  is  certainly 
a  deep  scientific  question,  and  yet  a  dashing  magazine  edi- 
tor, who  had  never  studied  it  for  a  minute,  indorses  the 
cure  of  a  quack,  Mattei,  who  had  likewise  not  a  scrap  of 
medical  knowledge ;  and  the  people  are  thus  gulled  into 
spending  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars.  Any  medical 
student  could  have  exposed  the  fallacy,  knowing  how  easily 
tumors  are  diagnosticated,  and  thus  often  "cured."  Neither 
Mr.  Stead  nor  his  Italian  Count  care  for  science.  They 
have  a  short  cut  to  scientific  knowledge  no  physician  could 
have  even  found  out  by  study  or  pathologic  investigation ! 

A  month  or  two  ago,  a  bill,  "a  very  moderate  one," 
and  one  that  "the  three  leading  and  influential  schools  of 
medicine"  had  recommended  to  the  legislature  of  Ohio,  to 
control  the  practise  of  medicine,  was  shouted  down  in 
guffaws  of  derision  by  the  barbaric  civilized  legislators  of 
that  State  at  the  command  of  the  lobby  controlled  by  the 
so-called  physio-medicals,  the  druggist,  patent-medicine 
men,  and  the  newspapers.  After  this  delectable  piece  of 
diabolism,  this  same  Fejee  Island  legislature — of  Ohio — 
voted  $5,000  to  experiment  with  the  Keeley  humbug,  each 
legislator  to  furnish  one  Keeley  patient.     Doubtless  with 


ore  adverti 

■■ 


ng  that 

Would 

A  chroi: 
,  and  <: 

nd  patho; 

V'jfjs   First   Patient 

ap  of 
the  pet  iled  into 

isily 


THE  EPIDEMIC  OF  QUACKERY  91 

such  men  charity  is  to  begin  at  home,  and  the  patient  will 
not  be  hard  to  find! 

Charley  Lamb  said  that  the  only  way  he  could  relieve 
his  feelings  when  he  heard  a  Gregorian  chant,  was  to  lie 
down  on  the  floor,  flat  on  his  belly,  and  howl  like  a  Der- 
vish. 

It  is  useless  and  tiresome  to  multiply  examples.  To 
the  honest  physician  the  diagnosis  is  easy,  but  to  the  physi- 
cian himself  infected  with  the  disease  and  in  the  incubation 
period,  the  disorder  is  unrecognizable.  He  will  contend 
most  vehemently  that  the  patient  is  in  blooming  health.  All 
who  wish  to  know  the  facts  can  easily  learn  them.  Evi- 
dence of  the  fallacy  of  the  popular  distrust  may  be  seen  by 
the  words  of  one  who  is  certainly  a  competent  and  unpreju- 
diced observer — the  present  highly  honored  president  of 
Harvard  University. 

"It  is  not  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago  that  medicine 
claimed  to  have  been  a  liberal  calling,  an  intellectual  pur- 
suit, and  even  to-day  its  position  as  such  is  very  inadequately 
recognized  by  the  mass  of  educated  men.  Now,  I  venture 
to  say  that  as  medical  education  is  now  given  in  the  best 
schools,  no  profession  has  a  better  right  to  claim  the  title 
of  an  educated,  intellectual  calling,  and  no  men  have 
a  better  right  to  demand  recognition  as  intellectual  men, 
of  trained  reasoning  faculties,  than  the  physicians  them- 
selves. I  see,  in  my  position  at  the  head  of  the  University, 
which  includes  the  department  of  liberal  arts  and  several 
professional  departments,  that  the  educated  community  does 
not  recognize  this.  And  I  exhort  you,  gentlemen,  in  all  your 
various  fields  of  influence  to  do  your  utmost  to  establish 
this  just  claim  of  the  medical  profession  to  the  position  of 
an  intellectual  calling,  and  to  establish  the  claim  of  this  great 
body  as  a  body  of  highly  trained  men  who  use  to  the  best 
advantage  for  the  community  the  reasoning  faculty,  the 
scientific  power  of  the  human  mind." 

A  quack  is  a  man  more  interested  in  himself  than  in 
the  healing  art;  caring  more  for  his  patent  than  for  his 
patient ;  more  desirous  of  making  dollars  than  of  curing 


92  THE  SHRINE  OF  iESCULAPIUS 

disease.  A  physician  is  one  whose  first  thought  is  to  cure 
his  patient.  This  is  the  sharp  dividing  line  that  makes  the 
whole  matter  clear. 

There  are  those  that  say  that  medicine  is  a  business, 
that  the  cure  of  diseased  people  and  the  obviation  of  disease 
is  a  calling  like  any  other ;  that  the  one  who  cures  best  will 
do  the  best  business,  i.  e.,  get  the  most  patients.  There  is 
but  one  single  comment  to  make  to  that ;  it  is  a  lie,  and  the 
man  who  says  it  knows  he  is  a  liar.  I  beg  of  you,  if  you  are 
entering  the  medical  profession  with  such  ideas  in  your 
heads  and  such  intentions  in  your  hearts — I  beg  of  you, 
leave  the  profession  to-day.  You  will  be  poor  physicians, 
you  will  die  ashamed  of  yourselves,  you  will  disgrace  a  noble 
calling,  and  you  will  hinder  civilized  progress.  I  assure 
you  this  universe  is  not  put  up  that  way !  You  may  make 
some  money,  perhaps,  but  the  same  deviltry  applied  in  poli- 
tics or  bucket  shops  will  get  you  much  more  of  the  stuff 
you  seek.  We  have  a  wretched  superabundance  of  such 
fellows  now  to  watch.  A  large  share  of  the  energy  of  good 
men  is  already  used  up  in  neutralizing  their  malice  and 
thwarting  their  cunning.  You  will  do  far  better  by  run- 
ning for  alderman,  dealing  in  green  goods,  or  in  anything 
except  in  the  health  and  confidence  of  afflicted  human  be- 
ings. That  is  a  work  fitting  only  to  those  who  recognize 
other  ideals  and  purposes  than  selfishness  and  money  get- 
ting. The  acceptance  by  you  of  your  diplomas  this  day 
pledges  and  consecrates  you  to  a  mission  among  your  fel- 
low men  that  is  truly  holy.  How  far  you  are  to  be  above 
trade  is  clearly  shown  by  the  fact  that  the  chemist — as  near 
a  physician  as  he  is — can  without  dishonor  patent  drugs 
and  reap  exclusive  pecuniary  gain  from  the  learning  and 
ingenuity  of  his  brain — but  you  may  not  do  this.  In  a  close 
analysis  the  work  of  the  chemist  and  scientist  is  due  human- 
ity as  much  as  is  yours  ;  every  device  and  improvement  of  civ- 
ilization withheld  from  public  use  or  sold  dearly  is  trading 
in  people's  lives,  is  a  sin  against  the  race — but  only  you, 
yours  alone  of  all  the  callings,  must  realize  the  fact  in  every- 
day life.    It  is  a  glorious  honor  to  belong  to  the  profession 


THE  EPIDEMIC  OF  QUACKERY  93 

of  which  that  can  be  said.  But  the  honor  only  conies  to 
them  that  are  willing  to  be  unknown  as  honored,  who  find 
the  reward  in  doing  the  work,  and  in  the  secret  satisfaction 
of  a  silent,  happy,  and  peaceful  conscience. 

But  with  the  professional  honor  and  beatitude  co- 
exists the  professional  duty.  There  is  the  greatest  danger 
that  the  men  who  believe  that  medicine  is  a  business  will 
have  their  way,  and  sink  professional  standing  to  the  level 
of  politics  and  trade.  Will  you  join  them  or  will  you  op- 
pose them?  The  whole  of  your  life  will  be  the  answer,  and 
this  answer  will  largely  consist  in  your  attitude  to  quack- 
ery. Dr.  H.  C.  Wood  says  that  as  few  or  no  homeopaths  to- 
day believe  or  practise  the  Hahnemannian  clap-trap,  they 
have,  ipso  facto,  suicided,  become  in  a  sectarian  sense  non- 
existent, and  that  on  our  part  we  may  ignore  the  fictitious 
distinction  and  fraternize  with  them.  The  president  of  the 
Philadelphia  County  Medical  Society  advises  letting  them 
into  our  medical  societies.  A  prominent  weekly  medical 
journal  of  New  York  smiles  very  graciously  at  the  sectar- 
ian ;  and  a  good  friend  of  mine,  an  editor  of  a  high-standard 
medical  journal,  tells  me  that  in  his  city  consultations  with 
a  sectarian  are  very  common,  and  go  unrebuked  by  physi- 
cians otherwise  in  good  standing. 

In  other  words,  after  centuries  of  struggle  and  with 
victory  in  our  hands — throw  it  away  in  a  fit  of  avaricious- 
ness,  cowardice,  and  weariness.  The  gentlemen  quoted 
doubtless  mean  well,  but  the  advice  is  unconsciously  traitor- 
ous to  humanity  and  to  the  medical  profession.  If  the  ad- 
vice be  followed,  we  shall  fall  back  again  into  what  the 
printers  call  pi,  and  out  of  this  general  debasement  moral 
physicians,  as  individuals,  will  again  have  to  raise  them- 
selves above  the  re-commercialized  mass,  and  with  century- 
long  struggle,  reform  again  a  new  guild,  with  precisely  the 
same  ideals  and  aims  as  that  we  poltroons  had  destroyed. 

It  cannot  escape  the  observation  of  any  one  who  wishes 
to  see  facts  as  they  are,  that  the  great  mass  of  homeopath- 
ists,  by  pure  necessity,  have  in  practise  entirely  abandoned 
the  whole  crazy  nonsense  of  Hahnemannian  mumbo-jumbo, 


94  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

and  cling  only  to  the  name  for  purely  commercial  reasons. 
The  great  homeopathist,  Guernsey,  he  probably  who  sup- 
plied "Dr."  Swan  with  his  sample  or  graft  of  "catarrhus 
nasi,"  says  that  there  is  in  New  York  City,  to-day,  no  ex- 
clusive homeopathic  practitioner.  Any  fool  knows  that  no 
disease  can  be  influenced  or  cured  by  the  medieval  drivel  of 
potentizations,  shaking,  smellings,  similias,  etc.  But  a  lot 
of  silly  women  have  got  it  into  their  heads  that  this  is  a 
"nice"  and  a  "new"  school,  and  these  mountebanks,  while 
giving  common  drugs  in  physiologic  doses,  are  willing  to 
sail  under  false  colors  for  the  sake  of  the  practise  it  brings. 
It  is  a  sickening  fact,  but  fact  it  is. 

What  is  the  treatment  of  this  veritable  and  terrible 
contagious  disease — quackery?  How  shall  you  meet  it? 
What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  Compromise?  The 
suggestion  recalls  Hugo's  famous  monosyllabic  fighter  at 
Waterloo. 

Instead  of  the  ninety  thousand  surrendering  to  ten 
thousand,  suppose  the  ninety  thousand  learn  a  lesson. 

Combination  is  the  order  of  the  day  in  the  world  of 
trade.  What  is  thus  done  for  selfish  reasons  may  be  done 
for  unselfish  ones.  The  patent-medicine  men  have  got 
every  druggist  and  every  newspaper  in  America  in  their 
determined  grip.  The  homeopathists  meet  in  national  and 
international  conventions,  and  devote  their  entire  energies 
and  time  to  schemes  for  getting  State  and  Governmental 
money  and  aid,  and  for  grasping  every  point  of  pecuniary 
and  social  advantage.  In  our  lofty  scorn  of  such  low  cun- 
ning, and  in  our  intense  preoccupation  with  disease  and  its 
cure,  we  never  raise  a  finger  toward  meeting  such  attack, 
never  pass  a  resolution  to  set  legislatures  right,  never  try 
to  instruct  the  public  in  its  medical  duties  and  self-interest. 
If  as  a  profession  we  did  but  devote  a  tenth  of  our  col- 
lective energy  and  intellect  to  these  things,  quackery  would 
disappear.  The  medical  profession  is  shut  within  itself. 
It  has  no  means  or  machinery  for  reaching  the  public  ear. 
The  few  thousand  quacks  occupy  the  field ;  the  public  hears 
from  them  always  and  emphatically. 


THE  EPIDEMIC  OF  QUACKERY  95 

Realize  the  condition  of  the  farmer  and  workman,  un- 
educated, undiscriminating.  These  are  the  bulk  of  our 
people.  With  almanacs  and  circulars  and  million-fold  de- 
vices, the  advertisements,  fictitious  certificates,  and  false 
promises  of  the  nostrum-traders  and  the  quacks  reach  his 
mind  and  feed  it  with  subtle  poison  and  plausible  falsehood. 
The  family  physician  is  squeezed  aside,  and  his  testimony 
against  these  frauds,  if  he  have  the  frankness  to  denounce 
them,  is  credited  to  his  jealousy.  The  medical  profession 
has  scorned  to  devise  machinery  to  reach  these  people  and 
to  open  their  eyes  to  the  humbuggery.  By  the  great  mass  of 
the  people  the  medical  profession  is  looked  upon  with  con- 
tempt or  ill-will,  its  members  to  be  called  in  dire  necessity, 
its  bills  paid  grudgingly.  The  bottles  of  the  cure-all  meet 
the  physician's  eye  in  every  household.  Every  State  and 
national  medical  congress  or  organization  should  have  a 
literary  bureau,  the  local  physician  as  the  local  agent,  to 
instruct  the  people  in  physiologic,  sanitary,  and  medical  du- 
ties, and  to  neutralize  the  pernicious  influences  at  work. 
It  should  not  be  held  beneath  our  dignity  to  make  a  popular 
but  honest  and  instructive  medical  almanac  for  popular  dis- 
tribution. 

The  American  Medical  Association  and  the  Congress 
of  American  Physicians  and  Surgeons,  every  State  and 
every  medical  society,  should  pronounce  as  bodies  upon  the 
great  questions  affecting  the  health  of  the  public.  Legis- 
lators think  we  do  not  care,  that  we  have  no  power.  The 
quacks  have  their  ears  and  fill  them.  There  are  a  hundred 
great  public  duties  we  are  leaving  undone  when,  if  we  but 
spoke  as  a  profession,  medical  and  sanitary  progress  would 
sweep  on  to  certain  victory  It  is,  let  us  hope,  only  a  ques- 
tion of  time.  In  the  riot  and  intoxication  of  the  rich  con- 
quest of  American  advantage,  Democracy  thinks  that  every 
outrageous  form  of  delusional  crankery  must  have  its  swing 
and  chance  to  rule  or  ruin.  But  that  day  is  fast  passing 
away  We  must  now  settle  down  to  the  hard  work  of  gov- 
erning and  civilizing.  When  the  Prince  Hal  of  Democracy 
becomes  the  King  of  Civilization  he  must  henceforth  scorn 


96  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

the  Falstaffs  of  quackery  and  scatter-brained  tomfoolery. 
So  in  your  case  when  the  Student  Hal  becomes  the  Practi- 
tioner King  beware  that  you  be  not  tempted  to  think  that 
the  aim  of  your  life,  professional  success,  will  come  more 
quickly  by  compromise  with  quackery  and  trickery  methods. 
There  is  no  doubt  of  the  fact  if  you  are  after  quick  success 
you  will  find  it  that  way.  But  this  plan  has  three  disad- 
vantages: you  will  not  find  enduring  success,  you  will  not 
be  self-satisfied  and  morally  strong,  and  you  will  not  gain 
the  love  and  honor  of  your  fellow  men. 

To  be  explicit  and  detailed,  let  me  counsel  a  few 
"don'ts": 

i.    Don't  be  in  a  hurry  for  success. 

2.  Don't  consult  or  fraternize  with  quacks  of  any 
kind  or  degree. 

3.  Don't  be  afraid  of  speaking  out  your  denunciation 
of  quackery,  regardless  of  the  loss  of  a  few  possible  patients 
and  the  charge  of  jealousy. 

4.  Don't  support  medical  journals  run  in  the  interest 
of  the  advertisers,  journals  that  are  muzzled,  that  are  con- 
ciliatory to  or  nondenunciatory  of  quackery. 

5.  Don't  sign  a  single  certificate  so  long  as  you  live, 
as  regards  special,  proprietary,  or  secret  preparations. 

6.  Don't  write  a  medical  article  in  which  such  prepara- 
tions are  praised  or  even  mentioned. 

7.  Don't  accept  commissions  or  presents  from  drug- 
gists, manufacturers,  opticians,  or  surgical-instrument 
dealers. 

8.  Don't  let  any  professional  allusion  to  yourself, 
your  opinions,  or  your  work  get  into  the  lay  newspapers. 
Don't  be  a  sneak  advertiser,  a  "newspaper  doctor." 

9.  In  your  own  righteous  wrath  against  quacks  outside 
of  the  profession,  don't  forget  that  there  are  many  within 
the  profession,  and  that  they  are  the  most  despicable — true 
wolves  in  sheep's  clothing.  I  would  rather  be  the  "Wizard 
King  of  Pain,"  and  buy  affidavits  of  impossible  cures  at 
twenty  dollars  each,  than  a  respectable  hypocrite  indirectly 


THE  EPIDEMIC  OF  QUACKERY  97 

or  secretly  hobnobbing  with  newspaper  reporters  and  sup- 
plying them  with  "data." 

As  physicians  charged  with  the  health  of  the  present 
and  future,  our  duty  must  become  clear:  the  entire  witch's 
Sabbath  of  "pathies"  and  "isms" ;  the  morbid  cranks,  drunk 
with  ignorance  and  conceit ;  the  sly  cunning  of  advertising 
schemers ;  the  tricks  and  frauds  of  medical  parasites  to  suck 
the  blood  of  their  dupes ;  the  patent  medicine  disgrace — all 
these  things  must  be  choked  out  of  existence.  It  is  a  war- 
fare, not  a  compromise,  we  are  entering  upon.  It  is  not  a 
theory,  it  is  a  condition  that  confronts  us. 

Another  need  is  for  individual  instruction  of  people. 
People  are  wofully  ignorant,  medically,  and  we  have  been 
shuffling  and  cowardly.  When  a  nice  little  foolish  woman 
or  a  pig-headed  man  with  arched  eyebrows  and  self-satis- 
faction tells  me,  "Oh,  I  belong  to  the  new  school,"  I  at  once 
say,  Ach,  so! — the  very  school  I  belong  to — but,  we  differ 
as  to  what  the  new  school  really  is.  Excuse  me,  do  you  have 
the  itch?  Do  you  believe  that  your  eau-de-cologne  gets 
stronger  by  shaking  it,  and  that  if  you  shake  it  in  a  peculiar 
manner  too  many  times  it  will  get  stronger  than  aqua  f ortis  ? 
Do  you  believe  your  ink  will  get  blacker,  or  your  whiskey 
stronger  the  more  water  you  put  in  it?  Do  "ink-grafts" 
and  cologne  "grafts"  work  ?  Do  you  believe  in  watching  the 
way  the  toe-nails  grow  for  a  year  after  taking  a  bit  of 
vegetable  carbon — toasted  bread — as  symptoms  of  disease 
and  evidences  of  drug-power?  Do  you  believe  the  only 
safe  way  of  taking  medicine  is  by  smelling  it?  Did  you, 
as  a  boy,  find  that  stomach-ache  from  eating  green  apples 
was  cured  by  eating  green  currants?  If  you  don't  believe 
any  of  these  things,  you  are  a  sensible  person,  not  a  Hahne- 
mannian.  These  and  such  things  are  the  only  things  that 
can  be  called  Hahnemannian.  If  you  don't  believe  them, 
do  you  think  it  honest  or  manly  to  pretend  to  believe  them 
for  the  sake  of  a  few  dollars,  and  sneakingly,  hypocritically 
practise  medicine  much  the  same  as  physicians  do,  giving 
common  drugs  in  physiologic  doses? 

I  have  been  surprised  to  see  how  a  few  minutes'  talk 


q8  the  shrine  of  ^sculapius 

with  such  people  makes  it  plain  to  them  what  silly  fools 
they  have  been,  and  how  egregiously  they  have  been  duped. 
I  have  looked  about  for  some  scrap  of  literature  I  could 
hand  to  these  folks,  to  show  them  what  roaring  nonsense 
they  unwittingly  gave  their  assent  to.  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes's  little  skit  is  almost  the  only  such  thing.  Con- 
vinced, however,  that  people  need  and  will  profit  by  simple 
instructions  honestly,  plainly,  justly  put  before  them,  I 
wish  to  have  a  little  pamphlet  prepared  that,  historically 
and  actually,  will  show  up  the  ridiculous  pretensions  of 
modern  homeopathic  practise.  I  shall,  therefore,  postpone 
a  bit  of  private  pleasure  I  had  planned,  and  offer  a  little 
prize  of  $100.00  for  the  best  essay  on  the  subject. 

An  essay  should  not  contain  over  15,000  words,  and  in 
simplicity  and  directness  should  be  adapted  to  the  com- 
monest lay  understanding.  Papers  should  be  sent  me  on  or 
before  January  1,  1893,  typewritten,  without  the  name  of 
the  author,  but  accompanied  by  a  seal  letter,  giving  the 
author's  name  with  motto  or  nom-de- plume.  The  essays 
will  be  given  a  competent  committee,  and  when  their  de- 
cision is  reached  the  sealed  letters  of  the  authors  will  be 
opened,  and  the  prize  sent  the  winner.  The  essay  will  then 
be  cheaply  but  well  printed  in  large  quantities  and  supplied 
physicians  at  the  cost  of  printing. 

Such  a  monograph  supplied  as  a  missionary  tract  for 
gratuitous  distribution  by  physicians,  at  the  cost  of  print- 
ing, would  set  thousands  of  people  straight,  and  would  soon 
stop  the  legislative  and  financial  Governmental  support  of 
this  trumpery.  I  wish  some  millionaire  would  give  me  a 
few  hundred  dollars  to  offer  as  prizes  for  other  missionary 
tracts ;  e.  g.,  on  the  "Patent-Medicine  Evil,"  "The  Reasons 
Physicians  Do  Not  Advertise,"  "Why  Physicians  Do  Not 
Patent  Instruments,  Drugs,  etc.,"  "The  Duty  of  the  Gov- 
ernment and  State  to  Medicine,"  "Everybody's  Medical 
Duty,"  "The  Desirability  of  a  Higher  Standard  of  Medical 
Education,"  etc.  What  a  disgrace  that  we  cannot  get  Gov- 
ernmental aid  for  payment  of  meat  and  milk  inspectors, 
boards    of    health,    bacteriologic    and    hygienic    institutes, 


THE  EPIDEMIC  OF  QUACKERY  99 

etc.,  etc.,  whilst  the  people's  money  can  be  filched  from 
them  to  support  arrant  quackery.  What  a  disgrace  that 
patent-medicine  syndicates  can  draw  many  millions  every 
year  from  the  diseased,  deluded,  and  poverty-stricken  of 
our  people,  with  a  Governmental  tax  of  only  25  per  cent, 
upon  their  mixtures,  whilst  the  same  people  must  pay  a 
tax  of  60  per  cent,  upon  microscopes,  and  one  of  493/2  cents 
a  pound  and  60  per  cent,  besides  upon  woolen  clothing. 

The  physicians  of  the  civilized  world  are  to-day  work- 
ing for  the  public  welfare  with  a  zeal  and  intelligence,  com- 
bined with  an  unselfishness,  that  no  other  profession,  trade, 
or  calling  can  faintly  rival.  Think,  first,  that  these  men 
are  almost  furiously  seeking  by  hygiene  and  prophylaxis  to 
render  their  own  calling  useless  and  superfluous,  themselves 
occupationless.  That  is  a  fact  so  strange  as  almost  to  seem 
unnatural  in  these  days  of  self-seeking,  class-legislation, 
trusts,  and  combines. 

Notice,  again,  that  every  instrument,  discovery,  drug, 
or  invention  brought  out  that  will  do  any  good  to  humanity 
is  at  once  and  unreservedly  given  to  the  world.  No  physi- 
cian ever  patents  or  keeps  secret  any  discovery  or  inven- 
tion.   Compare  that  with  the  world's  way. 

Reflect,  thirdly,  that  all  the  world  over  every  physician, 
whenever  asked,  gives  his  services  to  the  poor  without  de- 
mand or  without  hope  of  compensation.  Would  not  a 
lawyer  or  a  locksmith  think  one  crazy  if  it  were  proposed 
that  he  should  give  a  large  share  of  his  time  and  service 
for  nothing? 

Carry  the  thought  on.  The  entire  tremendous  labor, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  community,  of  keeping  up  the  enor- 
mous hospital  work  of  all  the  world's  cities  is  borne  by 
physicians  without  a  cent  of  pay.  Are  there,  for  example, 
thousands  of  similar  institutions  where  the  poor,  free  of 
charge,  can  get  legal  counsel  and  help  ?    Is  there  one  such  ? 

It  has  been  the  universal  medical  tradition,  accepted 
without  a  murmur,  that  whosoever  devotes  himself  to  the 
healing  art  must  gladly  construe  his  duty  in  this  unselfish 
manner,  renouncing  the  usual  ideals  and  commercial  meth- 


ioo  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

ods  of  the  surrounding  world.  Beyond  all  question  it  is  a 
fact  that  a  like  grade  of  intellectual  capacity,  the  same 
educational  preparation,  and  an  equal  amount  of  tireless 
labor  in  any  other  calling  would  yield  a  far  greater  financial 
result  than  is  secured  by  the  average  physician.  A  great 
physician  said,  "If  my  son  goes  into  the  medical  profession, 
I  shall  cut  him  off  with  a  shilling."  "Why  so  ?"  "Because 
the  profession  is  not  appreciated  by  the  public." 

It  is  a  public  misfortune,  a  social  evil,  if  there  is  slowly, 
subtly,  but  most  certainly,  creeping  through  the  profession 
the  lethal  poison  of  a  lowered  ethical  standard.  Every  per- 
son of  the  land  has  a  selfish  interest  in  preventing  our  adop- 
tion of  the  more  selfish  aims  and  ideals  of  the  world  of 
trade.  Business  men  are  very  short-sighted  if  they  allow  or 
encourage  medicine  to  become  a  business.  Whenever  this 
change  shall  have  come  about  (if,  alas!  it  should),  and 
medical  success  is  sought  by  the  prevalent  rules  of  trade, 
then  the  degradation  will  be  irreparable,  one  of  the  noblest 
of  offices  will  have  become  as  corrupted  and  salable  as  those 
of  politics,  and  an  engine  of  incalculable  good  to  humanity 
will  have  been  hopelessly  wrecked. 

Could  one  but  reach  their  ears,  how  one  would  like  to 
appeal  to  the  general  public,  to  legislators  of  a  serious- 
minded  type,  if  such  there  be,  to  the  better  class  of  inde- 
pendent journals,  to  the  more  thoughtful  of  literary  men, 
to  the  rulers  and  teachers  in  colleges  and  universities,  to 
careful  and  prudent  business  men  even,  to  patriots  and 
lovers  of  humanity,  all.  This  malicious  and  stupid  mis- 
conception; this  non-recognition  of,  and  opposition  to,  the 
true  work  and  worth  of  modern  scientific  medicine;  this 
hectoring  and  bullying  of  physicians  in  all  their  aims  for 
the  public  good ;  this  cordial  support  of  all  legislative  and 
sordid  schemes  of  cranks  and  quacks — is  a  social  menace 
and  a  common  danger.  It  is  long  past  the  time  that  this 
suicidal  debauchery  should  have  been  stopped.  To  all  good 
citizens  it  should  be  protested :  This  is  your  affair,  not  ours. 
It  is  as  much  a  national  sin  as  slavery,  monopoly  or  class 
legislation,    vote-buying,    the    liquor-corruption,    or    city- 


THE  EPIDEMIC  OF  QUACKERY  101 

luxury — more  than  a  sin,  it  is  a  moral  disease  of  the  body 
politic,  and  such  disease  is  an  expensive  luxury.  It  costs 
untold  money,  suffering,  and  human  lives.  Every  physician 
knows  of  many  deaths  directly,  due  to  quackery,  btit  the  in- 
direct deaths  and  consequences  are  incalculable.  Quackery 
kills  thousands  to  hydrophobia's  one.  The  silent  scourges 
are  the  great  ones — those  that  cut  off  single  lives  slowly 
but  ceaselessly.  It  becomes  for  you  every  day  more  and 
more  a  question  of  self-protection  and  self-interest.  It  is 
not,  as  you  seem  to  think,  a  huge  joke,  but  it  is  your  health, 
your  life,  your  future,  that  you  are  trifling  with.  Every 
epidemic  of  any  contagious  disease,  to  put  it  in  the  crudest 
way,  means  the  waste  of  millions  of  dollars  of  lost  time,  of 
expensive  sickness,  and  of  grievous  death.  In  these  United 
States  hundreds  of  thousands  of  needless  deaths  are  an- 
nually taking  place— needless  because  you  will  reach  no 
helping  hand  to  physicians  to  carry  out  the  preventive  meas- 
ures, discovered  and  well  known  to  us.  In  these  same 
States,  still  other  millions  of  cases  of  sickness  and  millions 
of  deaths  are  going  to  occur  during  the  next  few  years, 
again  because  you  will  not  aid  the  medical  profession  to 
search  out  other  at  present  unknown  sources  of  disease. 

There  are  plenty  of  possible  Kochs  and  Pasteurs  among 
American  young  men,  if  you  cared,  as  they  do  abroad,  to 
help  find  them  instead  of  laughing  at  them,  killing  them 
with  dignity  and  distrust,  whilst  feasting  and  honoring 
your  beloved  charlatans.  Are  your  charlatans  founding  in- 
stitutes of  bacteriology  and  preventive  medicine?  Are  they 
trying  to  probe  the  mystery  and  prevent  the  mockery  of 
disease  ?  Has  it  been  the  quacks  that  have  builded  the  noble 
new  home  of  which  city  and  profession  are  proud,  for  the 
trinity  of  great  schools  of  Medicine,  Pharmacy,  and  Den- 
tistry, of  your  beloved  Buffalo  University  ?  Are  you  wise  as 
a  nation,  if,  like  old  persecutors,  you  martyrize  those  who 
are  your  truest,  most  serviceable  friends?  For  the  sake  of 
the  simplest  selfishness,  for  the  love  of  your  children,  for 


102  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

the  sake  of  civilization  and  humanity,  for  God's  sake,  let 
us  turn  away  from  the  folly  and  sin  of  this  trifling,  and 
enter  at  last  upon  the  ways  that  lead  to  HEALTH ! 


•  NOTES 

(i)  It  is  sometimes  said  that  no  man  could  have  been  so  asi- 
nine as  to  ascribe  to  the  itch  such  profound  powers,  but  using 
Hahnemann's  own  words,  as  quoted  by  that  most  excellent  writer, 
Prof.  Nathan  Jacobson  of  Syracuse  (Journal  of  the  American  Medi- 
cal Association,  March  5,  1890),  psora  is  the  only  real  fundamental 
cause  and  source  of  all  the  other  countless  forms  of  disease  figuring 
as  peculiar  and  definite  diseases  in  books  on  pathology  under  the 
names  of  nervous  debility,  hysteria,  hypochondriasis,  mania,  melan- 
choly, idiocy,  madness,  epilepsy,  and  convulsions  of  all  kinds,  soft- 
ening of  the  bones  (rhachitis),  scoliosis  and  kyphosis,  caries  of 
bone,  cancer,  varices,  pseudoplasms,  gout,  hemorrhoids,  icterus  and 
cyanosis,  dropsy,  amenorrhea,  hemorrhages  from  the  stomach,  nose, 
lungs,  bladder,  or  uterus,  asthma,  and  suppuration  of  the  lungs, 
impotency  and  sterility,  sick  headache  (hemicrania),  deafness, 
cataract  and  glaucoma,  renal  calculus,  paralysis,  deficiency  of  the 
special  senses,  and  pains  of  every  variety. 

(2)  He  concludes  "that  if  pure  water  can  be  so  enriched  in 
medicinal  virtue  by  simple  contact  with  the  hand  as  to  cure  a  disease 
of  years'  duration,  how  much  more  must  this  power  grow  if  a 
properly  diluted  drug,  whose  peculiar  powers  experience  and  prov- 
ings  have  taught,  be  subjected  to  constant  shakings  in  the  hand  until 
it  becomes  enormously  efficient."  Further,  he  says :  "The  poison- 
ous properties  are  removed  from  a  drug  through  its  dilution,  while 
its  special  peculiarities,  so  to  speak,  its  soul,  remains,  and  by  rub- 
bing and  shaking  becomes  vivified  and  strengthened  by  human 
magnetism." 

(3)  Hahnemann's  own  words  again:  "By  administrating  a 
medicinal  potency  exactly  in  accordance  with  the  similitude  ^  of 
symptoms,  a  somewhat  stronger,  similar  artificial  morbid  affection 
is  implanted  upon  the  vital  power,  deranged  by  a  natural  disease. 
This  artificial  affection  is  substituted,  as  it  were,  for  the  weaker 
similar  natural  disease  (morbid  excitation),  against  which  the  in- 
stinctive vital  force,  now  only  excited  to  stronger  effort  by  the 
drug  affection,  needs  only  to  direct  its  increased  energy ;  but,  owing 
to  its  brief  duration,  it  will  soon  be  overcome  by  the  vital  force, 
which,  liberated  first  from  the  substituted  artificial  (drug)  affection, 
now  again  finds  itself  enabled  to  continue  the  life  of  the  organism 
in  health."  The  wonderous  clearness,  logic,  and  correspondence 
with  the  facts  of  pathology  herein  displayed  make  the  statement  a 

103 


104  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

fitting  cornerstone  for  a  lot  of  lunatics  and  sharpers  to  build  a 
system  of  philosophy  and  medicine  upon! 

(4)  Die  Iris,  nach  den  neuen  Entdeckungen  des  Dr.  Ignas  von 
Pecsely;  also,  Die  Augendiagnose  des  Dr.  Ignaz  von  Peczely,  etc.; 
von  Emil  Schlegel,  Tubingen,  1887.  Spots  in  parts  of  the  iris,  ac- 
cording to  location,  mean  wounds  of  the  ear,  the  shin,  a  syphilitic 
tumor,  lung-disease,  prolapse  of  the  uterus,  etc.,  etc. 

(5)  "Science  and  Health,"  pp.  188,  231. 

(6)  Science,  January  22,  1892. 


'.V 


ACCORDING  TO  PUNCH 


105 


ACCORDING  TO  PUNCH 
UNIVERSITY  OF  LONDON 

BACHELOR   OF    MEDICINE — FIRST    EXAMINATION,    184I 

f  .  jflHE  first  examination  for  the  degree  of  Bachelor 
of  Medicine  has  taken  place  at  the  London  Uni- 
L=^»'  versity,  and  has  raised  itself  to  the  level  of  Oxford 
*&&*££ti  and  Cambridge. 

Without  doubt  it  will  soon  acquire  all  the  other  at- 
tributes of  the  colleges.  Town  and  gown  rows  will  cause 
perpetual  confusion  to  the  steady-going  inhabitants  of 
Euston  Square.  Steeple-chases  will  be  run,  for  the  express 
delight  of  the  members,  on  the  waste  grounds  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  tall  chimneys  on  the  Birmingham  railroad ;  and  in  all 
probability,  the  whole  of  Gower  Street,  from  Bedford  Square 
to  the  New-road,  will,  at  a  period  not  far  distant,  be  turfed 
and  formed  into  a  T.  Y.  C. ;  the  property  securing  its  title- 
deeds  under  the  arms  of  the  university  for  the  benefit  of  its 
legs — the  bar  opposite  the  hospital  presenting  a  fine  leap  to 
finish  the  contest  over,  with  the  uncommon  advantage  of 
immediate  medical  assistance  at  hand. 

The  public  press  of  the  last  week  has  duly  blazoned 
forth  the  names  of  the  successful  candidates,  and  great  must 
have  been  the  rejoicings  of  their  friends  in  the  country  at 
the  event.  But  we  have  to  quarrel  with  these  journals  for 
not  more  explicitly  defining  the  questions  proposed  for  the 
examinations — the  answers  to  which  were  to  be  considered 
the  tests  of  proficiency.  By  means  of  the  ubiquity  which 
Punch  is  allowed  to  possess,  we  were  stationed  in  the  ex- 
amination room,  at  the  same  time  that  our  double  was  de- 
lighting a  crowded  and  highly  respectable  audience  upon 
Tower-hill;  and  we  have  the  unbounded  gratification  of 

107 


108  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

offering  an  exact  copy  of  the  questions  to  our  readers,  that 
they  may  see  with  delight  how  high  a  position  medical 
knowledge  has  attained  in  our  country : 

selections  from  the  examination  papers 
Anatomy  and  Physiology 

i.  State  the  principal  variations  found  in  the  kidneys 
procured  at  Evan's  and  the  Coal  Hole;  and  likewise  name 
the  proportion  of  animal  fibre  in  the  rumpsteaks  of  the 
above  resorts.  Mention,  likewise,  the  change  produced  in 
the  albumen,  or  white  of  an  egg,  by  poaching  it  upon  toast. 

2.  Describe  the  comparative  circulation  of  blood  in 
the  body,  and  of  the  Lancet,  Medical  Gazette,  and  Bell's 
Life  in  London,  in  the  hospitals ;  and  mention  if  Sir  Charles 
Bell,  the  author  of  the  "Bridgewater  Treatise  on  the  Hand," 
is  the  editor  of  the  last-named  paper. 

Medicine 

1.  You  are  called  to  a  fellow-student  taken  suddenly 
ill.  You  find  him  lying  on  his  back  in  the  fender ;  his  eyes 
open,  his  pulse  full,  and  his  breathing  stertorous.  His  mind 
appears  hysterically  wandering,  prompting  various  wind- 
mill-like motions  of  his  arms,  and  an  accompanying  lyrical 
intimation  that  he,  and  certain  imaginary  friends,  have  no 
intention  of  going  home  until  the  appearance  of  day-break. 
State  the  probable  disease ;  and  also  what  pathological 
change  would  be  likely  to  be  affected  by  putting  his  head 
under  the  cock  of  the  cistern. 

2.  Was  the  Mount  Hecla  at  the  Surrey  Zoological 
Gardens  classed  by  Bateman  in  his  work  upon  skin  diseases 
— if  so,  what  kind  of  eruption  did  it  come  under?  Where 
was  the  greatest  irritation  produced — in  the  scaffold-work 
of  the  erection,  or  in  the  bosom  of  the  gentleman  who  lived 
next  to  the  gardens,  and  has  a  private  exhibition  of  rockets 
every  night,  as  they  fell  through  his  skylight  and  burst  upon 
the  stairs? 

3    Which  is  the  most  powerful  narotic— opium,  hen- 


ACCORDING  TO  PUNCH  109 

bane,  or  a  lecture  upon  practise  of  physic ;  and  will  a  mod- 
erate dose  of  antimonial  wine  sweat  a  man  as  much  as  an 
examination  in  Apothecaries'  Hall  ? 

Chemistry  and  Natural  Philosophy 

1.  Does  any  chemical  combination  take  place  between 
the  porter  and  ale  in  a  pot  of  half-and-half  upon  mixture? 
Is  there  a  galvanic  current  set  up  between  the  pewter  and 
the  beer  capable  of  destroying  the  equilibrium  of  living 
bodies  ? 

2.  Explain  the  philosophical  meaning  of  the  sentence 
— "He  cut  away  from  the  crushers  as  quick  as  a  flash  of 
lightning  through  a  gooseberry-bush." 

3.  There  are  two  kinds  of  electricity,  positive  and 
negative ;  and  these  have  a  pugnacious  tendency.  A,  a  stu- 
dent, goes  up  to  the  College  positive  he  shall  pass ;  B,  an 
examiner,  thinks  his  abilities  negative,  and  flummuxes  him 
accordingly.  A  afterward  meets  B  alone,  in  a  retired  spot, 
where  there  is  no  policeman,  and,  to  use  his  own  expression, 
"takes  out  the  change"  upon  B.  In  this  case,  which  re- 
ceives the  greatest  shock — A's  "grinder,"  at  hearing  his 
pupil  was  plucked,  or  B  for  doing  it  ? 

4.  The  more  crowded  an  assembly  is,  the  greater 
quantity  of  carbonic  acid  is  evolved  by  its  component  mem- 
bers. State,  upon  actual  experience,  the  percentage  of  this 
gas  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  following  places: — The  Con- 
certs d'Ete,  the  Swan  in  Hungerford  Market,  the  pit  of  the 
Adelphi,  Hunt's  Billiard  Rooms,  and  the  Colosseum  dur- 
ing the  period  of  its  balls. 

Animal  Economy 

1.  Mention  the  most  liberal  pawnbrokers  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Guy's  and  Bartholomew's ;  and  state  under 
what  head  of  diseases  you  class  the  spring  outbreak  of  dis- 
secting cases  and  tooth-drawing  instruments  in  their  win- 
dows. 

2.  Mention  the  cheapest  tailors  in  the  metropolis,  and 
especially  name  those  who  charge  you  three  pounds   for 


no  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

dress  coats  ("best  Saxony,  any  other  color  than  blue  or 
black"),  and  write  down  five  in  the  bills  to  send  to  your 
governor.  Describe  the  anatomical  difference  between  a 
peacoat,  a  spencer,  and  a  Taglioni,  and  also  state  who  gave 
the  best  "prish"  for  old  ones. 


THE  PHYSIOLOGY  OF  THE  LONDON  MEDICAL 
STUDENT 

Of  The  Examination  at  Apothecaries'  Hall 

The  last  task  that  devolves  upon  our  student  before 
he  goes  up  to  the  Hall  is  to  hunt  up  his  testimonials  of  at- 
tendance to  lectures  and  good  moral  conduct  in  his  ap- 
prenticeship, together  with  his  parochial  certificate  of  age 
and  baptism.  The  first  of  these  is  the  chief  point  to  ob- 
tain ;  the  last  two  he  generally  writes  himself,  in  the  style 
best  consonant  with  his  own  feelings  and  the  date  of  his 
indenture.    His  "morality  ticket"  is  as  follows : 

Copy. 
"I  hereby  certify,  that  during  the  period  Mr.  Joseph 
Muff  served  his  time  with  me  he  especially  recommended 
himself  to  my  notice  by  his  studious  and  attentive  habits, 
highly  moral  and  gentlemanly  conduct,  and  excellent  dis- 
position. He  always  availed  himself  of  every  opportunity 
to  improve  his  professional  knowledge." 
(Signed) 

According  to  the  name  on  the  indenture. 

The  certificate  of  attendance  upon  lectures  is  only  ob- 
tained in  its  most  approved  state  by  much  clever  maneuver- 
ing. It  is  important  to  bear  in  mind  that  a  lecturer  should 
never  be  asked  whilst  he  is  loitering  about  the  school  for 
his  signature  of  the  student's  diligence.  He  may  then  have 
time  to  recollect  his  ignorance  of  his  pupil's  face  at  his 
discourses.  He  should  always  be  caught  flying— either  im- 
mediately before  or  after  his  lecture— in  order  that  the 
whole  business  may  be  too  hurried  to  admit  of  investiga- 
tion.   In  the  space  left  for  the  degree  of  attention  which  the 


in 


112  THE  SHRINE  OF  iESCULAPIUS 

student  has  shown,  it  is  better  that  he  subscribes  nothing 
at  all  than  an  indifferent  report ;  because  in  the  former  case, 
the  student  can  fill  it  up  to  his  own  satisfaction.  He  usually 
prefers  the  phrase — "with  unremitting  diligence." 

And  having  arrived  at  this  important  section  of  our 
Physiology,  it  behooves  us  to  publish,  for  the  benefit  of  med- 
ical students  in  general,  and  those  about  to  go  up  in  particu- 
lar, the  following: 

Code  of  Instructions 
To  be  observed  by  those  preparing  for  examination  at  the 

Hall 
i.     Previously  to  going  up,  take  some  pills  and  get 
your  hair  cut.    This  not  only  clears  your  faculties,  but  im- 
proves your  appearance.     The  court  of  examiners  dislike 
long  hair. 

2.  Do  not  drink  too  much  stout  before  you  go  in,  with 
the  idea  that  it  will  give  you  pluck.  It  renders  you  very 
valiant  for  half  an  hour  and  then  muddles  your  notions 
with  indescribable  confusion. 

3.  Having  arrived  at  the  Hall,  put  your  rings  and 
chains  in  your  pocket,  and,  if  practicable,  publish  a  pair  of 
spectacles.    This  will  endow  you  with  a  grave  look. 

4.  On  taking  your  place  at  the  table,  if  you  wish  to 
gain  time,  feign  to  be  intensely  frightened.  One  of  the  ex- 
aminers will  then  rise  to  give  you  a  tumbler  of  water, 
which  you  may,  with  good  effect,  rattle  tremulously  against 
your  teeth  when  drinking.  This  may  possibly  lead  them  to 
excuse  bad  answers  on  the  score  of  extreme  nervous  trepida- 
tion. 

5.  Should  things  appear  to  be  going  against  you,  get 
up  a  hectic  cough,  which  is  easily  imitated,  and  look  acutely 
miserable,  which  you  will  probably  do  without  trying. 

6.  Endeavor  to  assume  an  off-hand  manner  of  answer- 
ing ;  and  when  you  have  stated  any  pathological  fact — right 
or  wrong — stick  to  it;  if  they  want  a  case  for  example,  in- 
vent one,  "that  happened  when  you  were  an  apprentice  in 
the   country."     This    assumed   confidence   will    sometimes 


ACCORDING  TO  PUNCH  113 

bother  them.  We  knew  a  student  who  once  swore  at  the 
Hall,  that  he  gave  opium  in  a  case  of  concussion  of  the 
brain,  and  that  the  patient  never  required  anything  else.  It 
was  true — he  never  did. 

7.  Should  you  be  fortunate  enough  to  pass,  go  to  your 
hospital  next  day  and  report  your  examination,  describing 
it  as  the  most  extraordinary  ordeal  of  deep-searching  ques- 
tions ever  undergone.  This  will  make  the  professors  think 
well  of  you,  and  the  new  men  deem  you  little  less  than  a 
mental  Colossus.  Say,  also,  "you  were  complimented  by 
the  court."  This  advice  is,  however,  scarcely  necessary, 
as  we  never  knew  a  student  to  pass  who  was  not  thus  hon- 
ored— according  to  his  own  account. 

All  things  being  arranged  to  his  satisfaction,  he  de- 
posits his  papers  under  the  care  of  Mr.  Sayer,  and  passes 
the  interval  before  the  fatal  day  much  in  the  same  state  of 
mind  as  a  condemned  criminal.  At  last  Thursday  arrives, 
and  at  a  quarter  to  four,  any  person  who  takes  the  trouble 
to  station  himself  at  the  corner  of  Union  Street  will  see 
various  groups  of  three  and  four  young  men  wending  their 
way  toward  the  portals  of  Apothecaries'  Hall,  consisting 
of  students  about  to  be  examined,  accompanied  by  friends 
who  come  down  with  them  to  keep  up  their  spirits.  They 
approach  the  door,  and  shake  hands  as  they  give  and  re- 
ceive wishes  of  success.  The  wicket  closes  on  the  candi- 
dates, and  their  friends  adjourn  to  the  "Retail  Establish- 
ment" opposite,  to  go  the  odd  man  and  pledge  their  anxious 
companions  in  dissector's  diet-drink — vulgo,  half-and-half. 

Leaving  them  to  their  libations,  we  follow  our  old 
friend  Mr.  Joseph  Muff.  He  crosses  the  paved  courtyard 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  lost  half-a-crown  and  found 
a  halfpenny ;  and  through  the  windows  sees  the  assistants 
dispensing  plums,  pepper,  and  prescriptions,  with  provok- 
ing indifference.  Turning  to  the  left,  he  ascends  a  solemn- 
looking  staircase,  adorned  with  severe  black  figures  in 
niches,  who  support  lamps.  On  the  top  of  the  staircase  he 
enters  a  room,  wherein  the  partners  of  his  misery  are  col- 
lected.    It  is  a  long,  narrow  apartment,  commonly  known 


ii4  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

as  "the  funking  room,"  ornamented  with  a  savage-looking 
fireplace  at  one  end,  and  a  huge  surly  chest  at  the  other; 
with  gloomy  presses  against  the  walls,  containing  dry, 
mouldy  books  in  harsh,  repulsive  bindings.  The  windows 
look  into  the  court ;  and  the  glass  is  scored  by  diamond  rings, 
and  the  shutters  penciled  with  names  and  sentences,  which 
Mr.  Muff  regards  with  feelings  similar  to  those  he  would 
experience  in  contemplating  the  inscriptions  on  the  walls 
of  a  condemned  cell.  The  very  chairs  in  the  room  look  over- 
bearing and  unpleasant;  and  the  whole  locality  is  invested 
with  an  overallishness  of  unanswerable  questions  and  intri- 
cate botheration.  Some  of  the  students  are  marching  up 
and  down  the  room  in  feverish  restlessness ;  others,  arm  in 
arm,  are  worrying  each  other  to  death  with  questions ;  and 
the  rest  are  grinding  away  to  the  last  minute  at  a  manual, 
or  trying  to  write  minute  atomic  numbers  on  their  thumb- 
nail. 

The  clock  strikes  five,  and  Mr.  Sayer  enters  the  room, 
exclaiming:  "Mr.  Manhug,  Mr.  Jones,  Mr.  Saxby,  and  Mr. 
Collins."  The  four  depart  to  the  chamber  of  examination, 
where  the  medical  inquisition  awaits  them,  with  every  spe- 
cies of  mental  torture  to  screw  their  brains  instead  of  their 
thumbs,  and  rack  their  intellect  instead  of  their  limbs,  the 
chair  on  which  the  unfortunate  student  is  placed  being  far 
more  uneasy  than  the  tightest  fitting  "Scavenger's  daughter" 
in  the  Tower  of  London.  After  an  anxious  hour,  Mr.  Jones 
returns  with  a  light  bounding  step  to  a  joyous  extempore 
air  of  his  own  composing.  He  has  passed.  In  another 
twenty  minutes  Mr.  Saxby  walks  fiercely  in,  calls  for  his 
hat,  condemns  the  examiners  ad  inferos,  swears  he  shall 
cut  the  profession,  and  marches  away.  He  has  been  plucked ; 
and  Mr.  Muff,  who  stands  sixth  on  the  list,  is  called  on  to 
make  his  appearance  before  the  awful  tribunal. 

Of  the  College 

Our  hero  once  more  undergoes  the  process  of  grinding 
before  he  presents  himself  in  Lincoln's-inn-Fields  for  ex- 
amination at  the  College  of  Surgeons.    Almost  the  last  af- 


ACCORDING  TO  PUNCH  115 

fair  which  our  hero  troubles  himself  about  is  the  examina- 
tion at  the  College  of  Surgeons ;  and  as  his  anatomical 
knowledge  requires  a  little  polishing  before  he  presents  him- 
self in  Lincoln's-inn-Fields,  he  once  more  undergoes  the 
process  of  grinding. 

The  grinder  for  the  College  conducts  his  tuition  in  the 
same  style  as  the  grinder  for  the  Hall — often  they  are  united 
in  the  same  individual,  who  perpetually  has  a  vacancy  for 
a  resident  pupil,  although  his  house  is  already  quite  full; 
somewhat  resembling  a  carpet  bag,  which  was  never  yet 
known  to  be  so  crammed  with  articles,  but  you  might  put 
something  in  besides.  The  class  is  carried  on  similar  to 
the  one  we  have  already  quoted ;  but  the  knowledge  re- 
quired does  not  embrace  the  same  multiformity  of  subjects ; 
anatomy  and  surgery  being  the  principal  points. 

Our  old  friends  are  assembled  to  prepare  for  their 
last  examination,  in  a  room  fragrant  with  amalgamated 
odors  of  stale  tobacco-smoke,  varnished  bones,  leaky  prep- 
arations, and  gin-and-water.  Large  anatomical  prints  de- 
pend from  the  walls,  and  a  few  vertebrae,  a  lower  jaw,  and 
a  sphenoid  bone,  are  scattered  upon  the  table. 

"To  return  to  the  eye,  gentlemen,"  says  the  grinder; 
"recollect  the  Petitian  Canal  surrounds  the  Cornea.  Mr. 
Rapp,  what  am  I  talking  about  ?" 

Mr.  Rapp,  who  is  drawing  a  little  man  out  of  dots  and 
lines  upon  the  margin  of  his  "Quain's  Anatomy,"  starts  up 
and  observes,  "Something  about  the  Paddington  Canal  run- 
ning round  a  corner,  sir." 

"Now,  Mr.  Rapp,  you  must  pay  me  a  little  more  atten- 
tion," expostulates  the  teacher.  "What  does  the  operation 
for  a  cataract  resemble  in  a  familiar  point  of  view  ?" 

"Pushing  a  boat-hook  through  the  wall  of  a  house  to 
pull  back  the  drawing-room  blinds,"  answers  Mr.  Rapp. 

"You  are  incorrigible,"  says  the  teacher,  smiling  at  the 
simile,  which  altogether  is  an  apt  one.  "Did  you  ever  see  a 
case  of  bad  cataract?" 

"Yes,  sir,  ever  so  long  ago — the  Cataract  of  the  Ganges 
at  Astley's.    I  went  to  the  gallery,  and  had  a  mill  with — " 


Ii6  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPlUS 

"There,  we  don't  want  particulars,"  interrupted  the 
grinder;  "but  I  would  recommend  you  to  mind  your  eyes, 
especially  if  you  get  under  Guthrie.  Mr.  Muff,  how  do  you 
define  an  ulcer?" 

"The  establishment  of  a  raw,"  replies  Mr.  Muff. 

"Tit !  tit !  tit !"  continues  the  teacher,  with  an  expression 
of  pity.  "Mr.  Simpson,  perhaps  you  can  tell  Mr.  Muff  what 
an  ulcer  is?" 

"An  ebrasion  of  the  cuticle  produced  by  its  own  ab- 
sorption," answers  Mr.  Simpson  all  in  a  breath. 

"Well,  I  maintain  it's  easier  to  say  raw  than  all  that," 
observes  Mr.  Muff. 

"Pray,  silence.  Mr.  Manhug,  have  you  ever  been  sent 
for  to  a  bad  incised  wound  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  when  I  was  an  apprentice:  a  man  using  a 
chopper  cut  off  his  hand." 

"And  what  did  you  do?" 

"Cut  off  myself  for  the  governor,  like  a  two-year-old." 

"But  now  you  have  no  governor,  what  plan  would  you 
pursue  in  a  similar  case?" 

"Send  for  the  nearest  doctor — call  him  in." 

"Yes,  yes,  but  suppose  he  wouldn't  come?" 

"Call  him  out,  sir." 

"Pshaw !  you  are  all  quite  children,"  exclaims  the 
teacher.  "Mr.  Simpson,  of  what  is  bone  chemically  com- 
posed ?" 

"Of  earthy  matter,  or  phosphate  of  lime,  and  animal 
matter,  or  gelatine.** 

"Very  good,  Mr.  Simpson.  I  suppose  you  don't  know  a 
great  deal  about  bones,  Mr.  Rapp  ?" 

"Not  much,  sir.  I  haven't  been  a  great  deal  in  that 
line.  They  give  a  penny  for  three  pounds  in  Clare  Market. 
That's  what  I  call  popular  osteology." 

"Gelatine  enters  largely  into  the  animal  fibres,"  says 
the  leader  gravely.  "Parchment,  or  skin,  contains  an  im- 
portant quantity,  and  is  use  by  cheap  pastry-cooks  to  make 
jellies." 


ACCORDING  TO  PUNCH  117 

"Well  I  have  heard  of  eating  your  words"  says  Mr. 
Rapp,  "but  never  your  deeds." 

"Oh !  oh !  oh !"  groan  the  pupils  at  this  gross  appropria- 
tion, and  the  class  getting  very  unruly  is  broken  up. 

The  examination  at  the  College  is  altogether  a  more 
respectable  ordeal  than  the  jalap  and  rhubarb  botheration  at 
Apothecaries'  Hall,  and  par  consequence,  Mr.  Muff  goes 
up  one  evening  with  little  misgivings  as  to  his  success. 
After  undergoing  four  different  sets  of  examiners,  he  is 
told  he  may  retire,  and  is  conducted  by  Mr.  Belfour  into 
"Paradise,"  the  room  appropriated  to  the  fortunate  ones, 
which  the  curious  stranger  may  see  lighted  up  every  Friday 
evening  as  he  passes  through  Lincoln's-inn-Fields.  The  in- 
quisitors are  altogether  a  gentlemanly  set  of  men,  who  are 
willing  to  help  a  student  out  of  a  scrape,  rather  than  "catch 
question"  him  into  one.  Nay,  more  than  once  the  candidate 
has  attributed  his  success  to  a  whisper  prompted  by  the 
kind  heart  of  the  venerable  and  highly-gifted  individual — 
now,  alas!  no  more — who  until  last  year  assisted  at  the 
examinations. 

Of  course,  the  same  kind  of  scene  takes  place  that  was 
enacted  after  going  up  to  the  Hall,  and  with  the  same  re- 
sults, except  the  police-office,  which  they  manage  to  avoid. 
The  next  day,  as  usual,  they  are  again  at  the  school,  stand- 
ing innumerable  pots,  telling  incalculable  lies,  and  singing 
uncounted  choruses,  until  the  Scotch  pupil  who  is  still  grind- 
ing in  the  museum,  is  forced  to  give  over  study,  after  having 
been  squirted  at  through  the  keyhole  five  distinct  times  with 
a  reversed  stomach-pump  full  of  beer,  and  finally  unken- 
nelled. The  lecturer  upon  chemistry,  who  has  a  private 
pupil  in  his  laboratory  learning  how  to  discover  arsenic  in 
poisoned  people's  stomachs,  where  there  is  none,  and  make 
red,  blue,  and  green  fires,  finds  himself  locked  in,  and  is 
obliged  to  get  out  at  the  window ;  whilst  the  professor  of 
medicine,  who  is  holding  forth  as  usual  to  a  select  very 
few,  has  his  lecture  upon  intermittent  fever  so  strangely 
interrupted  by  distant  harmony  and  convivial  hullaballoo, 
that  he  finishes  abruptly  in  a  pet,  to  the  great  joy  of  his 


n8  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

class.  But  Mr.  Muff  and  his  friends  care  not.  They  have 
passed  all  their  troubles — they  are  regular  medical  men, 
and  for  aught  they  care  the  whole  establishment  may  blow 
up,  tumble  down,  go  to  blazes,  or  anything  else  in  a  small 
way  that  may  completely  obliterate  it.  In  another  twelve 
hours  they  have  departed  to  their  homes,  and  are  only 
spoken  of  in  the  reverence  with  which  we  regard  the  ruins 
of  a  by-gone  edifice,  as  bricks  who  were. 

Our  task  is  finished.  We  have  traced  Mr.  Muff  from 
the  new  man  through  the  almost  entomological  stages  of 
his  being  to  his  perfect  state ;  and  we  take  our  farewell  of 
him  as  the  "general  practitioner."  In  our  Physiology  we 
have  endeavored  to  show  the  medical  student  as  he  actually 
exists — his  reckless  gaity,  his  wild  frolics,  his  open  disposi- 
tion. That  he  is  careless  and  dissipated  we  admit,  but  these 
attributes  end  with  his  pupilage;  they  did  not  do  so  spon- 
taneously, the  up-hill  struggles  and  hardly-earned  income 
of  his  laborious  future  career  would,  to  use  his  own  terms, 
"soon  knock  it  all  out  of  him" ;  although,  in  the  after-waste 
of  years,  he  looks  back  upon  his  student's  revelries  with  an 
occasional  return  of  old  feelings,  not  unmixed,  however, 
with  a  passing  reflection  upon  the  lamentable  inefficacy  of 
the  present  course  of  medical  education  pursued  at  our 
schools  and  hospitals,  to  fit  a  man  for  future  practise. 

We  have  endeavored  in  our  sketches  so  to  frame  them, 
that  the  general  reader  might  not  be  perplexed  by  technical 
or  local  allusions,  whilst  the  students  of  London  saw  they 
were  the  work  of  one  who  had  lived  amongst  them.  And 
if  in  some  places  we  have  strayed  from  the  strict  boundaries 
of  perfect  refinement,  yet  we  trust  the  delicacy  of  our  most 
sensitive  reader  has  received  no  wound.  We  have  discarded 
our  joke  rather  than  lose  our  propriety ;  and  we  have  been 
pleased  at  knowing  that  in  more  than  one  family  circle  our 
Physiology  has,  now  and  then,  raised  a  smile  on  the  lips  of 
the  fair  girls,  whose  brothers  were  following  the  same  path 
we  have  traveled  over  at  the  hospitals. 

We  hope  with  the  new  year  to  have  once  more  the  grati- 


ACCORDING  TO  PUNCH  119 

fication  of  meeting  our  friends.  Until  then,  with  a  hand  of- 
fered in  warm  fellowship,— not  only  to  those  composing  the 
class  he  once  belonged  to,  but  to  all  who  have  been  pleased 
to  bestow  a  few  minutes  weekly  upon  his  chapters — the 
Medical  student  takes  his  leave. 


APPROPRIATE  EXAMINATION  PAPERS ;  WITH 

ANSWERS 

Q.  What  should  be  the  medical  treatment  of  a  common 
cold,  which,  in  fact,  requires  only  white-wine-whey  and  a 
footpan  ? 

A.  Pidv:  Antitn:  grains  five,  to  be  taken  at  bed-time ; 
and  Mistura  Feb:  three  tablespoonfuls  every  three  hours, 
with  Emplast:  Picis  to  the  region  of  the  chest. 

Q.  If  you  asked  a  patient  to  put  out  his  tongue,  and 
found  it  perfectly  clean,  what  would  you  do? 

A.    Shake  my  head,  and  say,  "Ah !"  or  "Hum  I" 

Q.     What  is  the  meaning  of  "Hum,"  sir? 

A.     It  means,  "I  see  what  is  the  matter  with  you." 

Q.  How  would  you  look  on  feeling  a  pulse  which 
proved  natural  and  regular? 

A.  Very  serious ;  and  I  would  pretend  to  be  calculat- 
ing. 

Q.  A  lady,  slightly  indisposed,  asks  whether  you  don't 
think  her  very  ill — your  answer? 

A.  I  should  say  that  she  would  have  been  so  if  she 
hadn't  sent  for  me  in  time. 

Q.  Suppose  a  patient  in  perfect  health  demands  what 
you  think  of  his  case? 

A.  I  should  tell  him,  very  mysteriously,  that  he  ought 
to  take  care  of  himself. 

Q.  An  anxious  mother,  sir,  sends  for  you  to  see  her 
darling  child — what  would  you  first  do? 

A.     Begin  by  admiring  it. 

Q.  How  long  in  a  given  case  would  you  send  in  medi- 
cine? 

A.     As  long  as  the  patient  believed  himself  ill.1 

Q.     That  belief  being  erroneous,  what  would  you  send, 


pray 


1 20 


ACCORDING  TO  PUNCH  121 

A.     I  think  Tinct:  Card:  Comp:  with  either  'Aqua  Men- 
thae  Pip:  or  Mist:  Camph: 

Q.    Be  so  good,  sir,  as  to  translate  the  word  "Inter." 
A,    Five  shillings. 


RHODERICK  AT  SURGEON'S  HALL 

BY 

TOBIAS  SMOLLETT 


123 


RHODERICK  AT  SURGEON'S  HALL 

ITH  the  assistance  of  this  faithful  adherent,  who 
gave  me  almost  all  the  money  he  earned,  I  pre- 
served my  half-guinea  entire  till  the  day  of  exam- 
r  ination,  when   I  went  with  a  quaking  heart  to 
Surgeon's  Hall,  in  order  to  undergo  that  ceremony.    Among 
the  crowd  of  young  fellows  who  walked  in  the  outward 
hall,  I  perceived  Mr.  Jackson,  to  whom  I  immediately  went 
up,  'and  inquiring  into  the  state  of  his  armor,  understood  it 
was  still  undetermined  by  reason  of  his  friend's  absence,  and 
the  delay  of  the  recall  at  Chatham,  which  put  it  out  of  his 
power  to  bring  it  to  a  conclusion.     I  then  asked  what  his 
business  was  in  this  place?    He  replied,  he  was  resolved  to 
have  two  strings  to  his  bow,  that  in  case  the  one  failed  he 
might  use  the  other;  and,  with  this  view,  he  was  to  pass 
that  night  for  a  higher  qualification.    At  that  instant  a  young 
fellow  came  out  from  the  place  of  examination  with  a  pale 
countenance,  his  lips  quivering,  and  his  looks  as  wild  as  if 
he  had  seen  a  ghost.    He  no  sooner  appeared,  than  we  all 
flocked  about  him  with  the  utmost  eagerness  to  know  what 
reception  he  had  met  with;  which,  after  some  pause,  he 
described,  recounting  all  the  questions  they  had  asked,  with 
the  answers  he  made.    In  this  manner,  we  obliged  no  less 
than  twelve  to  recapitulate,  which,  now  the  danger  was  past, 
they  did  with  pleasure,  before  it  fell  to  my  lot.    At  length 
the  beadle  called  my  name,  with  a  voice  that  made  me  trem- 
ble as  much  as  if  it  had  been  the  sound  of  the  last  trumpet. 
However,  there  was  no  remedy :  I  was  conducted  into  a  large 
hall,  where  I  saw  about  a  dozen  of  grim  faces  sitting  at  a 
long  table;  one  of  whom  bade  me  come  forward,  in  such 
an  imperious  tone  that  I  was  actually  for  a  minute  or  two 
bereft  of  my  senses.    The  first  question  he  put  to  me  was, 
"Where  was  you  born?"  To  which  I  answered,  "Scotland. 

125 


126  THE  SHRINE  OF  iESCULAPIUS 

"In  Scotland,"  said  he;  "I  know  that  very  well;  we  have 
scarce  any  other  countrymen  to  examine  here;  you  Scotch- 
men have  overspread  us  of  late  as  the  locusts  did  Egypt. 
I  ask  you  in  what  part  of  Scotland  was  you  born?"  I 
named  the  place  of  my  nativity,  which  he  had  never  before 
heard  of.  He  then  proceeded  to  interrogate  me  about  my 
age,  the  town  where  I  served  my  time,  with  the  term  of  my 
apprenticeship;  and  when  I  informed  him  that  I  served 
three  years  only,  he  fell  into  a  violent  passion ;  swore  it  was 
a  shame  and  a  scandal  to  send  such  raw  boys  into  the  world 
as  surgeons ;  that  it  was  a  great  presumption  in  me,  and  an 
affront  upon  the  English,  to  pretend  to  sufficient  skill  in  my 
business,  having  served  so  short  a  time,  when  every  appren- 
tice in  England  was  bound  seven  years  at  least;  that  my 
friends  would  have  done  better  if  they  had  made  me  a 
weaver  or  shoemaker,  but  their  pride  would  have  me  a 
gentleman,  he  supposed,  at  any  rate,  and  their  poverty  could 
not  afford  the  necessary  education. 

This  exordium  did  not  at  all  contribute  to  the  recovery 
of  my  spirits,  but,  on  the  contrary,  reduced  me  to  such  a 
situation  that  I  was  scarce  able  to  stand;  which,  being  per- 
ceived by  a  plump  gentleman  who  sat  opposite  to  me,  with 
a  skull  before  him,  he  said,  Mr.  Snarler  was  too  severe 
upon  the  young  man ;  and,  turning  towards  me,  told  me,  I 
need  not  to  be  afraid,  for  nobody  would  do  me  any  harm; 
then,  bidding  me  take  time  to  recollect  myself,  he  examined 
me  touching  the  operation  of  the  trepan,  and  was  very  well 
satisfied  with  my  answers. 

The  next  person  who  questioned  me  was  a  wag,  who 
began  by  asking  if  I  had  ever  seen  amputation  performed ; 
and,  I  replying  in  the  affirmative,  he  shook  his  head,  and 
said,  "What!  upon  a  dead  subject,  I  suppose?  If,"  contin- 
ued he,  "during  an  engagement  at  sea,  a  man  should  be 
brought  to  you  with  his  head  shot  off,  how  would  you  be- 
have?" After  some  hesitation,  I  owned  such  a  case  had 
never  come  under  my  observation,  neither  did  I  remember 
to  have  seen  any  method  of  cure  proposed  for  such  an  acci- 
dent, in  any  of  the  systems  of  surgery  I   had  perused. 


RHODERICK  AT  SURGEON'S  HALL  127 

Whether  it  was  owing  to  the  simplicity  of  my  answer,  or 
the  archness  of  the  question,  I  know  not,  but  every  member 
at  the  board  deigned  to  smile,  except  Mr.  Snarler,  who 
seemed  to  have  very  little  of  the  animal  resibile  in  his  con- 
stitution. 

The  facetious  member,  encouraged  by  the  success  of  his 
last  joke,  went  on  thus :  "Suppose  you  was  called  to  a 
patient  of  a  plethoric  habit,  who  had  been  bruised  by  a  fall, 
what  would  you  do  ?"  I  answered,  I  would  bleed  him  imme- 
diately. "What,"  said  he,  "before  you  had  tied  up  his  arm?" 
But  this  stroke  of  wit  not  answering  his  expectation,  he 
desired  me  to  advance  to  the  gentleman  who  sat  next  him ; 
and  who,  with  a  pert  air,  asked  what  method  of  cure  I 
would  follow  in  wounds  of  the  intestines.  I  repeated  the 
method  of  cure  as  it  is  prescribed  by  the  best  surgical 
writers;  which  he  heard  to  an  end,  and  then  said,  with  a 
supercilious  smile,  "So  you  think  by  such  treatment  the 
patient  might  recover."  I  told  him  I  saw  nothing  to  make 
me  think  otherwise.  "That  may  be,"  resumed  he,  "I  won't 
answer  for  your  foresight;  but  did  you  ever  know  a  case 
of  this  kind  succeed  ?"  I  answered  I  did  not ;  and  was  about 
to  tell  him  I  never  saw  a  wounded  intestine ;  but  he  stopped 
me,  by  saying  with  some  precipitation,  "Nor  never  will.  I 
affirm  that  all  wounds  of  the  intestines,  whether  great  or 
small,  are  mortal."  "Pardon  me,  brother,"  says  the  fat  gen- 
tleman, "there  is  very  good  authority "     Here  he  was 

interrupted  by  the  other  with,  "Sir,  excuse  me,  I  despise  all 
authority.  Nullius  in  verba.  I  stand  upon  my  own  bottom." 
"But,  sir,  sir,"  replied  his  antagonist,  "the  reason  of  the 

thing  shows "     "A  fig  for  reason,"  cried  the  sufficient 

member ;  "I  laugh  at  reason ;  give  me  ocular  demonstration." 
The  corpulent  gentleman  began  to  wax  warm,  and  observed 
that  no  man  acquainted  with  the  anatomy  of  the  parts  would 
advance  such  an  extravagant  assertion.  This  innuendo  en- 
raged the  other  so  much,  that  he  started  up,  and  in  a  furious 
tone  exclaimed,  "What,  sir,  do  you  question  my  knowledge 
in  anatomy  ?"  By  this  time,  all  the  examiners  had  espoused 
the  opinion  of  one  or  other  of  the  disputants,  and  raised 


128  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

their  voices  all  together,  when  the  chairman  commanded 
silence,  and  ordered  me  to  withdraw. 

In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  was  called  in  again, 
received  my  qualification  sealed  up,  and  was  ordered  to  pay 
five  shillings.  I  laid  down  my  half-guinea  upon  the  table, 
and  stood  some  time,  until  one  of  them  bade  me  begone. 
To  this  I  replied,  "I  will,  when  I  have  got  my  change," 
upon  which  another  threw  me  five  shillings  and  sixpence, 
saying,  I  should  not  be  a  true  Scotchman  if  I  went  away 
without  my  change.  I  was  afterwards  obliged  to  give  three 
shillings  and  sixpence  to  the  beadles,  and  a  shilling  to  an 
old  woman  who  swept  the  Hall.  This  disbursement  sunk 
my  finances  to  thirteenpence  half-penny,  with  which  I  was 
sneaking  off,  when  Jackson,  perceiving  it,  came  up  to  me, 
and  begged  I  would  tarry  for  him,  and  he  would  accompany 
me  to  the  other  end  of  the  town,  as  soon  as  his  examination 
should  be  over. 

I  could  not  refuse  this  to  a  person  that  was  so  much 
my  friend ;  but  I  was  astonished  at  the  change  of  his  dress, 
which  was  varied  in  half  an  hour  from  what  I  have  already 
described,  to  a  very  grotesque  fashion.  His  head  was  cov- 
ered with  an  old  smoked  tie-wig  that  did  not  boast  one 
crooked  hair,  and  a  slouched  hat  over  it,  which  would  have 
very  well  become  a  chimney-sweeper  or  a  dustman;  his 
neck  was  adorned  with  a  black  crape,  the  ends  of  which 
he  had  twisted,  and  fixed  in  the  button-hole  of  a  shabby 
great-coat  that  wrapped  up  his  whole  body;  his  white  silk 
stockings  were  converted  into  black  worsted  hose;  and  his 
countenance  was  rendered  venerable  by  wrinkles,  and  a 
beard  of  his  own  painting.  When  I  expressed  my  surprise 
at  this  metamorphosis,  he  laughed  and  told  me,  it  was  done 
by  the  advice  and  assistance  of  a  friend  who  lived  over  the 
way,  and  would  certainly  produce  something  very  much  to 
his  advantage ;  for  it  gave  him  the  appearance  of  age,  which 
never  fails  of  attracting  respect. 

I  applauded  his  sagacity,  and  waited  with  impatience 
for  the  effects  of  it.  At  length  he  was  called  in,  but  whether 
the  oddness  of  his  appearance  excited  a  curiosity  more  than 


RHODERICK  AT  SURGEON'S  HALL  129 

usual  in  the  board,  or  his  behavior  was  not  suitable  to  his 
figure,  I  know  not;  he  was  discovered  to  be  an  impostor, 
and  put  into  the  hands  of  the  beadle,  in  order  to  be  sent  to 
Bridewell.  So  that  instead  of  seeing  him  come  out  with  a 
cheerful  countenance,  and  a  surgeon's  qualification  in  his 
hand,  I  perceived  him  led  through  the  outward  hall  as  a 
prisoner,  and  was  very  much  alarmed  and  anxious  to  know 
the  occasion;  when  he  called,  with  a  lamentable  voice  and 
piteous  aspect  to  me,  and  some  others  who  knew  him,  "For 
God's  sake,  gentlemen,  bear  witness  that  I  am  the  same  in- 
dividual, John  Jackson,  who  served  as  surgeon's  second  mate 
on  board  The  Elisabeth,  or  else  I  shall  go  to  Bridewell." 
It  would  have  been  impossible  for  the  most  austere  hermit 
that  ever  lived  to  have  refrained  from  laughing  at  his  ap- 
pearance and  address ;  we  therefore  indulged  ourselves  a 
good  while  at  his  expense,  and  afterwards  pleaded  his  case 
so  effectually  with  the  beadle,  who  was  gratified  with  half  a 
crown,  that  the  prisoner  was  dismissed,  and,  in  a  few  mo- 
ments, resumed  his  former  gaiety ;  swearing,  since  the  board 
had  refused  his  money,  he  would  spend  it,  every  shilling, 
before  he  went  to  bed,  treating  his  friends;  at  the  same 
time  inviting  us  all  to  favor  him  with  our  company. 


DIPLOMA  NOS  UNIVERSITATAS  SANT^E 
GLORVINA 

We  learned  Professors  of  the  College, 

The  Alma  Mater  of  true  knowledge, 

Where  students  learn,  in  memoria, 

The  philosophical  amatoria, 

Where  senior  fellows  hold  no  power, 

And  junior  sophists  rule  the  hour, 

Where  every  bachelor  of  arts 

Studies  no  science — but  of  hearts, 

Takes  his  degree  from  smiling  eyes 

And  gets  his  FELLOWSHIP— by  sighs ; 

Where  scholars  learn,  by  rules  quite  simple, 

To  expound  the  mystics  of  a  dimple ; 

To  run  through  all  their  moods  and  tenses. 

Where  none  (though  still  to  grammar  true) 

Could  e'er  decline — a  billet  doux, 

Though  all  soon  learn  to  conjugate, 

(Eadum  nos  autoritate). 

We — learned  Professors  of  this   College, 

The  Alma  Mater  of  true  knowledge, 

Do,  on  the  Candidate  Morgani, 

(Doctissimo  in  Medicini), 

Confer  his  right  well  earned  degree, 

And  dub  him  henceforth,  sage  M.  D., 

He,  having  stood  examination, 

On  points  might  puzzle  half  the  nation, 

Shown  where  with  skill  he  could  apply 

A  sedative,  or  stimuli; 

How  to  the  chorda  tympani 

He  could,  by  dulcet  symphony, 

The  soul  divine  itself  convey, 

How  he  (in  verses)  can  impart 

131 


132  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

A  vital  motion  to  a  heart, 

Through  hours  which  Time  had  sadly  robb'd, 

Though  dull  and  morbid  it  had  throbb'd. 

Teach  sympathetic  nerves  to  thrill, 

Pulses  to  quicken  or  lie  still ; 

And  without  pause  or  hesitation, 

Pursue  that  vagrant  thing  sensation 

From  right  to  left, — from  top  to  toe, 

From  head  of  sage  to  foot  of  beau, 

While  vain  it  shuns  his  searching  hand, 

E'en  in  its  own  pineal  gland. 

But  did  we  all  his  feats  rehearse, 
How  he  excels  in  tuneful  verse, 
How  well  he  writes — how  well  he  sings, 
How  well  he  does  ten  thousand  things, 
Gave  we  due  meed  to  this  bright  homo, 
It  would — Turgeret  hoc  Diploma. 

Glorvin^e  Owensonee. 


DR.   HEIDEGGER'S   EXPERIMENT 

BY 

NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 


133 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT 

^—  HAT  very  singular  man,  old  Dr.  Heidegger,  once 
invited  four  venerable  friends  to  meet  him  in  his 
study.  There  were  three  white-bearded  gentlemen, 
Mr.  Medbourne,  Colonel  Killigrew,  and  Mr.  Gas- 
coigne,  and  a  withered  gentlewoman,  whose  name  was  the 
Widow  Wycherly.  They  were  all  melancholy  old  creatures, 
who  had  been  unfortunate  in  life,  and  whose  greatest  mis- 
fortune it  was  that  they  were  not  long  ago  in  their  graves. 
Mr.  Medbourne,  in  the  vigor  of  his  age,  had  been  a  pros- 
perous merchant,  but  had  lost  his  all  by  a  frantic  speculation, 
and  was  now  little  better  than  a  mendicant.  Colonel  Killi- 
grew had  wasted  his  best  years,  and  his  health  and  substance, 
in  the  pursuit  of  sinful  pleasures,  which  had  given  birth  to 
a  brood  of  pains,  such  as  the  gout,  and  divers  other  tor- 
ments of  soul  and  body.  Mr.  Gascoigne  was  a  ruined  poli- 
tician, a  man  of  evil  fame,  or  at  least  had  been  so  till  time 
had  buried  him  from  the  knowledge  of  the  present  genera- 
tion, and  made  him  obscure  instead  of  infamous.  As  for 
the  Widow  Wycherly,  tradition  tells  us  that  she  was  a  great 
beauty  in  her  day ;  but,  for  a  long  while  past,  she  had  lived 
in  deep  seclusion,  on  account  of  certain  scandalous  stories 
which  had  prejudiced  the  gentry  of  the  town  against  her. 
It  is  a  circumstance  worth  mentioning  that  each  of  these 
three  old  gentlemen,  Mr.  Medbourne,  Colonel  Killigrew,  and 
Mr.  Gascoigne,  were  early  lovers  of  the  Widow  Wycherly, 
and  had  once  been  on  the  point  of  cutting  each  other's 
throats  for  her  sake.  And,  before  proceeding  further,  I  will 
merely  hint  that  Dr.  Heidegger  and  all  his  four  guests  were 
sometimes  thought  to  be  a  little  beside  themselves, — as  is 
not  unfrequently  the  case  with  old  people,  when  worried 
either  by  present  troubles  or  woful  recollections. 

"My  dear  old  friends,"  said  Dr.  Heidegger,  motioning 

135 


136  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

them  to  be  seated,  "I  am  desirous  of  your  assistance  in  one 
of  those  little  experiments  with  which  I  amuse  myself  here 
in  my  study." 

If  all  stories  were  true,  Dr.  Heidegger's  study  must 
have  been  a  very  curious  place.  It  was  a  dim,  old-fashioned 
chamber,  festooned  with  cobwebs,  and  besprinkled  with  an- 
tique dust.  Around  the  walls  stood  several  oaken  book- 
cases, the  lower  shelves  of  which  were  filled  with  rows  of 
gigantic  folios  and  black  letter  quartos,  and  the  upper  with 
little  parchment-covered  duodecimos.  Over  the  central 
bookcase  was  a  bronze  bust  of  Hippocrates,  with  which,  ac- 
cording to  some  authorities,  Dr.  Heidegger  was  accustomed 
to  hold  consultations  in  all  difficult  cases  in  his  practise. 
In  the  obscurest  corner  of  the  room  stood  a  tall  and  narrow 
oaken  closet,  with  its  door  ajar,  within  which  doubtfully  ap- 
peared a  skeleton.  Between  two  of  the  bookcases  hung  a 
looking-glass,  presenting  its  high  and  dusty  plate  within  a 
tarnished  gilt  frame.  Among  many  wonderful  stories  re- 
lated of  this  mirror,  it  was  fabled  that  the  spirits  of  all  the 
doctor's  deceased  patients  dwelt  within  its  verge,  and  would 
stare  him  in  the  face  whenever  he  looked  thitherward.  The 
opposite  side  of  the  chamber  was  ornamented  with  the  full- 
length  portrait  of  a  young  lady,  arrayed  in  the  faded  mag- 
nificence of  silk,  satin,  and  brocade,  and  with  a  visage  as 
faded  as  her  dress.  Above  half  a  century  ago,  Dr.  Heideg- 
ger had  been  on  the  point  of  marriage  with  this  young  lady ; 
but,  being  afflicted  with  some  slight  disorder,  she  had  swal- 
lowed one  of  her  lover's  prescriptions,  and  died  on  the  bridal 
evening.  The  greatest  curiosity  of  the  study  remains  to 
be  mentioned ;  it  was  a  ponderous  folio  volume,  bound  in 
black  leather,  with  massive  silver  clasps.  There  were  no 
letters  on  the  back,  and  nobody  could  tell  the  title  of  the 
book.  But  it  was  well  known  to  be  a  book  of  magic ;  and 
once,  when  a  chambermaid  had  lifted  it,  merely  to  brush 
away  the  dust,  the  skeleton  had  rattled  in  its  closet,  the  pic- 
ture of  the  young  lady  had  stepped  one  foot  upon  the  floor, 
and  several  ghastly  faces  had  peeped  forth  from  the  mirror ; 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT  137 

while  the  brazen  head  of  Hippocrates  frowned,  and  said, 
"Forbear !" 

Such  was  Dr.  Heidegger's  study.  On  the  summer 
afternoon  of  our  tale  a  small  round  table,  as  black  as  ebony, 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  sustaining  a  cut-glass  vase 
of  beautiful  form  and  elaborate  workmanship.  The  sunshine 
came  through  the  window,  between  the  heavy  festoons  of 
two  faded  damask  curtains,  and  fell  directly  across  this  vase  ; 
so  that  a  mild  splendor  was  reflected  from  it  on  the  ashen 
visages  of  the  five  old  people  who  sat  around.  Four  cham- 
pagne glasses  were  also  on  the  table. 

"My  dear  old  friends,"  repeated  Dr.  Heidegger,  "may 
I  reckon  on  your  aid  in  performing  an  exceedingly  curious 
experiment  ?" 

Now  Dr.  Heidegger  was  a  very  strange  old  gentleman, 
whose  eccentricity  had  become  the  nucleus  for  a  thousand 
fantastic  stories.  Some  of  these  fables,  to  my  shame  be  it 
spoken,  might  possibly  be  traced  back  to  my  own  veracious 
self;  and  if  any  passages  of  the  present  tale  should  startle 
the  reader's  faith,  I  must  be  content  to  bear  the  stigma  of  a 
fiction  monger. 

When  the  doctor's  four  guests  heard  him  talk  of  his 
proposed  experiment,  they  anticipated  nothing  more  wonder- 
ful than  the  murder  of  a  mouse  in  an  air  pump,  or  the  ex- 
amination of  a  cobweb  by  the  microscope,  or  some  similar 
nonsense,  with  which  he  was  constantly  in  the  habit  of  pes- 
tering his  intimates.  But  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  Dr. 
Heidegger  hobbled  across  the  chamber,  and  returned  with 
the  same  ponderous  folio,  bound  in  black  leather,  which 
common  report  affirmed  to  be  a  book  of  magic.  Undoing 
the  silver  clasps,  he  opened  the  volume,  and  took  from 
among  its  black  letter  pages  a  rose,  or  what  was  once  a  rose, 
though  now  the  green  leaves  and  crimson  petals  had  assumed 
one  brownish  hue,  and  the  ancient  flower  seemed  ready  to 
crumble  to  dust  in  the  doctor's  hands. 

"This  rose,"  said  Dr.  Heidegger,  with  a  sigh,  "this 
same  withered  and  crumbling  flower,  blossomed  five  and 
fifty  years  ago.     It  was  given  me  by  Sylvia  Ward,  whose 


i38  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

portrait  hangs  yonder ;  and  I  meant  to  wear  it  in  my  bosom 
at  our  wedding.  Five  and  fifty  years  it  has  been  treasured 
between  the  leaves  of  this  old  volume.  Now,  would  you 
deem  it  possible  that  this  rose  of  half  a  century  could  ever 
bloom  again?" 

"Nonsense !"  said  the  Widow  Wycherly,  with  a  peevish 
toss  of  her  head.  "You  might  as  well  ask  whether  an  old 
woman's  wrinkled  face  could  ever  bloom  again." 

"See!"  answered  Dr.  Heidegger. 

He  uncovered  the  vase,  and  threw  the  faded  rose  into 
the  water  which  it  contained.  At  first,  it  lay  lightly  on  the 
surface  of  the  fluid,  appearing  to  imbibe  none  of  its  moisture. 
Soon,  however,  a  singular  change  began  to  be  visible.  The 
crushed  and  dried  petals  stirred,  and  assumed  a  deepening 
tinge  of  crimson,  as  if  the  flower  were  reviving  from  a 
deathlike  slumber;  the  slender  stalk  and  twigs  of  foliage 
became  green ;  and  there  was  the  rose  of  half  a  century, 
looking  as  fresh  as  when  Sylvia  Ward  had  first  given  it  to 
her  lover.  It  was  scarcely  full  bloom ;  for  some  of  its  deli- 
cate red  leaves  curled  modestly  around  its  moist  bosom, 
within  which  two  or  three  dewdrops  were  sparkling. 

"That  is  certainly  a  very  pretty  deception,"  said  the 
doctor's  friends  ;  carelessly,  however,  for  they  had  witnessed 
greater  miracles  at  a  conjurer's  show ;  "pray  how  was  it 
effected?" 

"Did  you  never  hear  of  the  'Fountain  of  Youth'?" 
asked  Dr.  Heidegger,  "which  Ponce  De  Leon,  the  Spanish 
adventurer,  went  in  search  of  two  or  three  centuries  ago  ?" 

"But  did  Ponce  De  Leon  ever  find  it?"  said  the  Widow 
Wycherly. 

"No,"  answered  Dr.  Heidegger,  "for  he  never  sought  it 
in  the  right  place.  The  famous  Fountain  of  Youth,  if  I  am 
rightly  informed,  is  situated  in  the  southern  part  of  the 
Floridan  peninsula,  not  far  from  Lake  Macaco.  Its  source 
is  overshadowed  by  several  gigantic  magnolias,  which, 
though  numberless  centuries  old,  have  been  kept  as  fresh 
as  violets  by  the  virtues  of  this  wonderful  water.    An  ac- 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT  139 

quaintance  of  mine,  knowing  my  curiosity  in  such  matters, 
has  sent  me  what  you  see  in  the  vase." 

"Ahem!"  said  Colonel  Killigrew,  who  believed  not  a 
word  of  the  doctor's  story ;  "and  what  may  be  the  effect  of 
this  fluid  on  the  human  frame?" 

"You  shall  judge  for  yourself,  my  dear  colonel,"  re- 
plied Dr.  Heidegger ;  "and  all  of  you,  my  respected  friends, 
are  welcome  to  so  much  of  this  admirable  fluid  as  may  re- 
store to  you  the  bloom  of  youth.  For  my  own  part,  having 
had  much  trouble  in  growing  old,  I  am  in  no  hurry  to  grow 
young  again.  With  your  permission,  therefore,  I  will  merely 
watch  the  progress  of  the  experiment." 

While  he  spoke,  Dr.  Heidegger  had  been  filling  the 
four  champagne  glasses  with  the  water  of  the  Fountain  of 
Youth.  It  was  apparently  impregnated  with  an  effervescent 
gas,  for  little  bubbles  were  continually  ascending  from  the 
depths  of  the  glasses,  and  bursting  in  silver  spray  at  the 
surface.  As  the  liquor  diffused  a  pleasant  perfume,  the  old 
people  doubted  not  that  it  possessed  cordial  and  comfortable 
properties ;  and  though  utter  skeptics  as  to  its  rejuvenescent 
power,  they  were  inclined  to  swallow  it  at  once.  But  Dr. 
Heidegger  besought  them  to  stay  a  moment. 

"Before  you  drink,  my  respectful  old  friends,"  said  he, 
"it  would  be  well  that,  with  the  experience  of  a  lifetime  to 
direct  you,  you  should  draw  up  a  few  general  rules  for  the 
guidance,  in  passing  a  second  time  through  the  perils  of 
youth.  Think  what  a  sin  and  shame  it  would  be,  if,  with 
your  peculiar  advantages,  you  should  not  become  patterns 
of  virtue  and  wisdom  to  all  the  young  people  of  the  age!" 

The  doctor's  four  venerable  friends  made  him  no  an- 
swer, except  by  a  feeble  and  tremulous  laugh ;  so  very  ridic- 
ulous was  the  idea  that,  knowing  how  closely  repentance 
treads  behind  the  steps  of  error,  they  should  ever  go  astray 
again. 

"Drink,  then,"  said  the  doctor,  bowing.  "I  rejoice 
that  I  have  so  well  selected  the  subjects  of  my  experiment." 

With  palsied  hands,  they  raised  the  glasses  to  their  lips. 
The  liquor,  if  it  really  possessed  such  virtues  as  Dr.  Heideg- 


i4o  THE  SHRINE  OF  iESCULAPIUS 

ger  imputed  to  it,  could  not  have  been  bestowed  on  four 
human  beings  who  needed  it  more  wofully.  They  looked  as 
if  they  had  never  known  what  youth  or  pleasure  was,  but  had 
been  the  offspring  of  Nature's  dotage,  and  always  the  gray, 
decrepit,  sapless,  miserable  creatures,  who  now  sat  stooping 
round  the  doctor's  table,  without  life  enough  in  their  souls 
or  bodies  to  be  animated  even  by  the  prospect  of  growing 
young  again.  They  drank  off  the  water,  and  replaced  their 
glasses  on  the  table. 

Assuredly  there  was  an  almost  immediate  improvement 
in  the  aspect  of  the  party,  not  unlike  what  might  have  been 
produced  by  a  glass  of  generous  wine,  together  with  a  sud- 
den glow  of  cheerful  sunshine  brightening  over  all  their 
visages  at  once.  There  was  a  healthful  suffusion  on  their 
cheeks,  instead  of  the  ashen  hue  that  had  made  them  look  so 
corpse-like.  They  gazed  at  one  another,  and  fancied  that 
some  magic  power  had  really  begun  to  smooth  away  the  deep 
and  sad  inscription  which  Father  Time  had  been  so  long 
engraving  on  their  brows.  The  Widow  Wycherly  adjusted 
her  cap,  for  she  felt  almost  like  a  woman  again. 

"Give  us  more  of  this  wondrous  water!"  cried  they 
eagerly.  "We  are  younger — but  we  are  still  too  old !  Quick 
— give  us  more !" 

"Patience,  patience!"  quoth  Dr.  Heidegger,  who  sat 
watching  the  experiment  with  philosophic  coolness.  "You 
have  been  a  long  time  growing  old.  Surely,  you  might  be 
content  to  grow  young  in  half  an  hour !  But  the  water  is  at 
your  service." 

Again  he  filled  their  glasses  with  the  liquor  of  youth, 
enough  of  which  still  remained  in  the'  vase  to  turn  half  the 
people  in  the  city  to  the  age  of  their  own  grandchildren. 
While  the  bubbles  were  yet  sparkling  on  the  brim,  the  doc- 
tor's four  guests  snatched  their  glasses  from  the  table,  and 
swallowed  the  contents  at  a  single  gulp.  Was  it  delusion? 
Even  while  the  draught  was  passing  down  their  throats,  it 
seemed  to  have  wrought  a  change  on  their  whole  systems. 
Their  eyes  grew  clear  and  bright ;  a  dark  shade  deepened 
among  their  silvery  locks,  they  sat  around  the  table,  three 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT  14I 

gentlemen  of  middle  age,  and  a  woman,  hardly  beyond  her 

buxom  prime. 

"My  dear  widow,  you  are  charming!"  cried  Colonel 
Killigrew,  whose  eyes  had  been  fixed  upon  her  face,  while 
the  shadows  of  age  were  flitting  from  it  like  darkness  from 
the  crimson  daybreak.  f 

The  fair  widow  knew,  of  old,  that  Colonel  Killigrew  s 
compliments  were  not  always  measured  by  sober  truth ;  so 
she  started  up  and  ran  to  the  mirror,  still  dreading  that  the 
ugly  visage  of  an  old  woman  would  meet  her  gaze.    Mean- 
while, the  three  gentlemen  behaved  in  such  a  manner  as 
proved  that  the  water  of  the  Fountain  of  Youth  possessed 
some  intoxicating  qualities  ;  unless,  indeed,  their  exhilaration 
of  spirits  was  merely  a  lightsome  dizziness,  caused  by  the 
sudden  removal  of  the  weight  of  years.     Mr.  Gascoigne's 
mind  seemed  to  run  on  political  topics,  but  whether  relating 
to  the  past,  present,  or  future,  could  not  easily  be  deter- 
mined, since  the  same  ideas  and  phrases  have  been  in  vogue 
these  fifty  years.     Now  he  rattled  forth  full-throated  sen- 
tences about  patriotism,  national  glory,  and  the  people's 
right ;  now  he  muttered  some  perilous  stuff  or  another,  in  a 
sly  and  doubtful  whisper,  so  cautiously  that  even  his  own 
conscience  could  scarcely  catch  the  secret ;  and  now,  again, 
he  spoke  in  measured  accents,  and  a  deeply  deferential  tone, 
as  if  a  royal  ear  were  listening  to  his  well-turned  periods. 
Colonel  Killigrew  all  this  time  had  been  trolling  forth  a 
jolly  bottle  song,  and  swinging  his  glass  in  symphony  with 
the  chorus,  while  his  eyes   wandered  toward   the  buxom 
figure  of  the  Widow  Wycherly.    On  the  other  side  of  the 
table,  Mr.  Medbourne  was  involved  in  a  calculation  of  dol- 
lars and  cents,  with  which  was   strangely  intermingled  a 
project  for  supplying  the  East  Indies  with  ice,  by  harnessing 
a  team  of  whales  to  the  polar  icebergs. 

As  for  the  Widow  Wycherly,  she  stood  before  the 
mirror  courtesying  and  simpering  to  her  own  image,  and 
greeting  it  as  the  friend  whom  she  loved  better  than  all  the 
world  beside.  She  thrust  her  face  close  to  the  glass,  to  see 
whether  some  long-remembered  wrinkle  or  cow's  foot  had 


142  THE  SHRINE  OF  /ESCULAPIUS 

indeed  vanished.  She  examined  whether  the  snow  had 
so  entirely  melted  from  her  hair  that  the  venerable  cap 
could  be  safely  thrown  aside.  At  last,  turning  briskly  away, 
she  came  with  a  sort  of  dancing  step  to  the  table. 

"My  dear  old  doctor,"  cried  she,  "pray  favor  me  with 
another  glass!" 

"Certainly,  my  dear  madam,  certainly!"  replied  the 
complaisant  doctor ;  "see !  I  have  already  filled  the  glasses." 

There,  in  fact,  stood  the  four  glasses,  brimful  of  this 
wonderful  water,  the  delicate  spray  of  which,  as  it  effer- 
vesced from  the  surface,  resembled  the  tremulous  glitter  of 
diamonds.  It  was  now  so  nearly  sunset  that  the  chamber 
had  grown  duskier  than  ever ;  but  a  mild  and  moonlike 
splendor  gleamed  from  within  the  vase,  and  rested  alike  on 
the  four  guests  and  on  the  doctor's  venerable  figure.  He 
sat  in  a  high-backed,  elaborately-carved,  oaken  arm-chair, 
with  a  gray  dignity  of  aspect  that  might  have  well  befitted 
that  very  Father  Time,  whose  power  had  never  been  dis- 
puted, save  by  this  fortunate  company.  Even  while  quaffing 
the  third  draught  of  the  Fountain  of  Youth,  they  were 
almost  awed  by  the  expression  of  his  mysterious  visage. 

But,  the  next  moment,  the  exhilarating  gush  of  young 
life  shot  through  their  veins.  They  were  now  in  the  happy 
prime  of  youth.  Age,  with  its  miserable  train  of  cares  and 
sorrows  and  diseases,  was  remembered  only  as  the  trouble 
of  a  dream,  from  which  they  had  joyously  awoke.  The  fresh 
gloss  of  the  soul,  so  early  lost,  and  without  which  the  world's 
successive  scenes  had  been  but  a  gallery  of  faded  pictures, 
again  threw  its  enchantment  over  all  their  prospects.  They 
felt  like  new-created  beings  in  a  new-created  universe. 

"We  are  young !    We  are  young !"  they  cried  exultingly. 

Youth,  like  the  extremity  of  age,  had  effaced  the  strong- 
marked  characteristics  of  middle  life,  and  mutually  assimi- 
lated them  all.  They  were  a  group  of  merry  youngsters, 
almost  maddened  with  the  exuberant  frolicsomeness  of  their 
years.  The  most  singular  effect  of  their  gayety  was  an  im- 
pulse to  mock  the  infirmity  and  decrepitude  of  which  they 
had  so  lately  been  the  victims.    They  laughed  loudly  at  their 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT  143 

old-fashioned  attire,  the  wide-skirted  coats  and  flapped 
waistcoats  of  the  young  men,  and  the  ancient  cap  and  gown 
of  the  blooming  girl.  One  limped  across  the  floor  like  a 
gouty  grandfather;  one  set  a  pair  of  spectacles  astride  of 
his  nose,  and  pretended  to  pore  over  the  black  letter  pages 
of  the  book  of  magic ;  a  third  seated  himself  in  an  arm- 
chair, and  strove  to  imitate  the  venerable  dignity  of  Dr. 
Heidegger.  Then  all  shouted  mirthfully,  and  leaped  about 
the  room.  The  Widow  Wycherly — if  so  fresh  a  damsel 
could  be  called  a  widow — tripped  up  to  the  doctor's  chair, 
with  a  mischievous  merriment  in  her  rosy  face. 

"Doctor,  you  dear  old  soul,"  cried  she,  "get  up  and 
dance  with  me !"  And  then  the  four  young  people  laughed 
louder  than  ever,  to  think  what  a  queer  figure  the  poor  old 
doctor  would  cut. 

"Pray  excuse  me,"  answered  the  doctor  quietly.  "I  am 
old  and  rheumatic,  and  my  dancing  days  were  over  long 
ago.  But  either  of  these  gay  young  gentlemen  will  be  glad 
of  so  pretty  a  partner." 

"Dance  with  me,  Clara !"  cried  Colonel  Killigrew.  "No, 
no,  I  will  be  her  partner !"  shouted  Mr.  Gascoigne. 

"She  promised  me  her  hand,  fifty  years  ago !"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Medbourne. 

They  all  gathered  round  her.  One  caught  both  her 
hands  in  his  passionate  grasp — another  threw  his  arms  about 
her  waist — the  third  buried  his  hand  among  the  glossy 
curls  that  clustered  beneath  the  widow's  cap.  Blushing, 
panting,  struggling,  chiding,  laughing,  her  warm  breath 
fanning  each  of  their  faces  by  turns,  she  strove  to  disengage 
herself,  yet  still  remained  in  their  triple  embrace.  Never 
was  there  a  livelier  picture  of  youthful  rivalship,  with  be- 
witching beauty  for  the  prize.  Yet,  by  a  strange  deception, 
owing  to  the  duskiness  of  the  chamber,  and  the  antique 
dresses  which  they  still  wore,  the  tall  mirror  is  said  to  have 
reflected  the  figures  of  the  three  old,  gray,  withered  grand- 
sires,  ridiculously  contending  for  the  skinny  ugliness  of  a 
shriveled  grandam. 

But  they  were  young;  their  burning  passions  proved 


144  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

them  so.  Inflamed  to  madness  by  the  coquetry  of  the  girl- 
widow,  who  neither  granted  nor  quite  withheld  her  favors, 
the  three  rivals  began  to  interchange  threatening  glances. 
Still  keeping  hold  of  the  fair  prize,  they  grappled  fiercely  at 
one  another's  throats.  As  they  struggled  to  and  fro,  the 
table  was  overturned,  and  the  vase  dashed  into  a  thousand 
fragments.  The  precious  Water  of  Youth  flowed  in  a 
bright  stream  across  the  floor,  moistening  the  wings  of  a 
butterfly,  which,  grown  old  in  the  decline  of  the  summer, 
had  alighted  there  to  die.  The  insect  fluttered  lightly 
through  the  chamber,  and  settled  on  the  snowy  head  of  Dr. 
Heidegger. 

"Come,  come,  gentlemen! — come,  Madam  Wycherly," 
exclaimed  the  doctor,  "I  really  must  protest  against  this 
riot." 

They  stood  still  and  shivered ;  for  it  seemed  as  if  gray 
Time  were  calling  them  back  from  their  sunny  youth,  far 
down  into  the  chill  and  darksome  vale  of  years.  They  looked 
at  old  Dr.  Heidegger,  who  sat  in  his  carved  arm-chair,  hold- 
ing the  rose  of  half  a  century,  which  he  had  rescued  from 
among  the  fragments  of  the  shattered  vase.  At  the  motion 
of  his  hand,  the  four  rioters  resumed  their  seats ;  the  more 
readily,  because  their  violent  exertions  had  wearied  them, 
youthful  though  they  were. 

"My  poor  Sylvia's  rose!"  ejaculated  Dr.  Heidegger, 
holding  it  in  the  light  of  the  sunset  clouds;  "it  appears  to 
be  fading  again." 

And  so  it  was.  Even  while  the  party  were  looking  at 
it,  the  flower  continued  to  shrivel  up,  till  it  became  as  dry 
and  fragile  as  when  the  doctor  had  first  thrown  it  into  the 
vase.  He  shook  off  the  few  drops  of  moisture  which  clung 
to  its  petals. 

"I  love  it  as  well  thus  as  in  its  dewy  freshness,"  ob- 
served he,  pressing  the  withered  rose  to  his  withered  lips. 
While  he  spoke,  the  butterfly  fluttered  down  from  the  doc- 
tor's snowy  head,  and  fell  upon  the  floor. 

His  guests  shivered  again.  A  strange  dullness,  whether 
of  the  body  or  spirit  they  could  not  tell,  was  creeping  over 


DR.  HEIDEGGER'S  EXPERIMENT  145 

them  all.  They  gazed  at  one  another,  and  fancied  that  each 
fleeting  moment  snatched  away  a  charm,  and  left  a  deepen- 
ing furrow  where  none  had  been  before.  Was  it  an  illusion  ? 
Had  the  changes  of  a  lifetime  been  crowded  into  so  brief 
a  space,  and  were  they  now  four  aged  people,  sitting  with 
their  old  friend,  Dr.  Heidegger? 

"Are  we  grown  old  again,  so  soon?"  cried  they,  dole- 
fully. 

In  truth  they  had.  The  Water  of  Youth  possessed 
merely  a  virtue  more  transient  than  that  of  wine.  The 
delirium  which  it  created  had  effervesced  away.  Yes !  they 
were  old  again.  With  a  shuddering  impulse,  that  showed 
her  a  woman  still,  the  widow  clasped  her  skinny  hands  be- 
fore her  face,  and  wished  that  the  coffin  lid  were  over  it, 
since  it  could  be  no  longer  beautiful. 

"Yes,  friends,  we  are  old  again,"  said  Dr.  Heidegger, 
"and  lo !  the  Water  of  Youth  is  all  lavished  on  the  ground. 
Well — I  bemoan  it  not;  for  if  the  fountain  gushed  at  my 
very  doorstep,  I  would  not  stoop  to  bathe  my  lips  in  it — no, 
though  its  delirium  were  for  years  instead  of  moments. 
Such  is  the  lesson  ye  have  taught  me!" 

But  the  doctor's  four  friends  had  taught  no  such  lesson 
to  themselves.  They  resolved  forthwith  to  make  a  pilgrim- 
age to  Florida,  and  quaff  at  morning,  noon,  and  night,  from 
the  Fountain  of  Youth. 


FIRST  AID  TO  THE  INJURED 

BY 

W,  G.  VAN  TASSEL  SUTPHEN 


147 


FIRST  AID  TO  THE  INJURED 
A  Farce  in  One  Act 

Characters  Represented 

Miss  Belle  Cheviot,  Miss  Sally  Driver, 

Miss  Grace  Lofter,  Miss  Charlotte  Brassie, 

Mr.  Jack  Hazard,  Dr.  Austin  Cheviot. 

Scene. — The  hall  of  the  Peconic  Bay  Golf  Club.  Prac- 
ticable French  window  at  L.  C.  back.  Entrances  at  R.  C. 
back  and  L.  Large  table  at  R.  C.  Small  table  and  large 
easy-chair  at  L.  front.  Small  cabinet  at  R.  front.  Tele- 
phone at  R.  C.  back.  Time,  morning.  Miss  Cheviot  is 
discovered  leaning  against  table  at  R.  C.  She  is  dressed 
in  golf  costume  and  holds  a  bundle  of  golf  clubs. 

Miss  C.  (resolutely)  :  And  I  continue  to  prefer  a 
straight-faced  driver;  the  bulger  "pulls"  the  ball.  (Looking 
over  L.)  Gone !  And  without  another  word !  I  will  never 
forgive  him — never!  never! 

[She  sinks  into  a  chair  at  R.  and  puts  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes.  Enter  Dr.  Cheviot,  L.  He  carries  a  morocco- 
covered  medicine-chest. ~\ 

Dr.  C.  (crossing  over  R.)  :    Hello!    Is  that  you,  Belle? 

Miss  C.  (whipping  away  her  handkerchief)  :  Austin ! 
I  didn't  know  you  were  back. 

Dr.  C.  (coming  down)  :  I  came  in  on  the  early  train. 
(Offering  to  kiss  her)     How  are  you? 

Miss  C.  (avoiding  him)  :  Please  don't — never  before 
luncheon,  you  know. 

Dr.  C.  (laughing  and  walking  away)  :  Oh,  I  don't 
mind — being  your  brother. 

Miss  C.  (irritably)  :    I  do  wish  you  would  be  quiet, 

149 


ISO  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

Austin;  it's  perfectly  maddening  the  way  your  boots  creak. 

Dr.  C.  (looking  at  her  curiously)  :  You  seem  a  trifle 
upset  this  morning.    Has  anything  happened  ? 

Miss  C. :    Of  course  not.    How  absurd  you  are! 

Dr.  C. :     I  met  Hazard  outside  just  now. 

Miss  C.  (defiantly)  :    Well? 

Dr.  C. :  There  is  something  wrong  between  you  two, 
and  I  propose  to  inquire  into  it.  Have  you  been  foolish 
enough — 

Miss  C.  (interrupting)  :  I  can't  see  that  it  concerns 
you  at  all,  but  since  you  take  such  a  fraternal  interest  in  my 
affairs  you  may  as  well  know  that  our  engagement  is  broken. 

Dr.  C. :    What ! 

Miss  C. :  It  was  all  a  mistake  from  the  beginning, 
and  fortunately  we  have  found  it  out  in  time.  Nobody  was 
to  blame;  it  is  nobody's  fault.  We  have  parted,  and  that 
is  the  end  of  it. 

Dr.  C. :  But,  Belle- 
Miss  C.  (interrupting)  :  My  dear  brother,  allow  me 
to  remind  you  again  that  this  is  entirely  my  own  affair. 
There  is  absolutely  nothing  more  to  say. 

Dr.  C.  (shortly)  :  Oh,  very  well;  I  suppose  we  will 
have  to  fall  back  upon  golf,  as  usual. 

Miss  C.  (loftily)  :  It  is  the  mark  of  a  small  mind  to 
despise  what  it  cannot  appreciate.  If  it  hadn't  been  for 
golf- 

Dr.  C.  (sotto  voce)  :  You  would  still  be  engaged  to 
Jack  Hazard. 

Miss  C.  (absently)  :  But  that  is  all  over  now.  (Look- 
ing over  R.)  I  suppose  that  you  have  your  absurd  class  in 
"First  Aid  to  the  Injured"  this  morning. 

Dr.  C.  (warmly)  :  I  can't  see  anything  absurd  about 
it;  but  of  course  your  business  is  to  break  hearts,  not  to 
mend  them.  I  shouldn't  like  to  hear  of  Jack's  taking  a  dose 
of  poison  after  what  has  happened  this  morning.  (Gloom- 
ily) You  wouldn't  have  the  faintest  idea  what  to  do  for 
him. 


FIRST  AID  TO  THE  INJURED  151 

Miss  C.  (lightly)  :  I  don't  think  the  contingency  a 
likely  one.  Men  don't  do  that  sort  of  thing  nowadays. 
Dr.  C. :  No ;  the  women  are  not  worth  it. 
Miss  C.  :  And  the  club  brandy  and  soda  answers  the 
same  purpose  in  the  end.  (Picking  up  her  golf  clubs  and 
going  up  )  You  might  say  to  Mr.  Hazard  that  I  expect  to 
make  the  course  in  eighty-two  or  under,  and  that  I  shall 
use  a  straight-faced  driver.    The  bulger  "PULLS"  the  ball. 

[Exit  by  window,  L.  C.  back. 
Dr.  C. :    Poor  Jack !    It's  just  that  little  difference  be- 
tween a  straight-faced  and  a  bulger  driver  that  has  sepa- 
rated them.    A  miserable  eighth  of  an  inch,  and  yet  as  wide 
as  the  world. 

[Mr.  Jack  Hazard  enters  L.  He  is  dressed  in  golf 
costume  and  carries  a  deck.] 

Jack  (with  a  hasty  look  around)  :  Gone!  And  with- 
out another  word ! 

Dr.  C.  (turning)  :  That  you,  Jack? 
Jack:  Don't  let  me  disturb  you.  (Taking  a  golf  ball 
from  his  pocket  and  proceeding  to  "address"  it  )  We  have 
an  indoors  course  now,  you  know,  and  the  inkstand  is  the 
last  hole.  Fore!  (Makes  tzvo  or  three  ineffectual  attempts 
to  hit  the  ball.)  It's  no  use,  I  can't  keep  my  eye  on  the  ball 
this  morning. 

Dr.  C.  (putting  his  hand  on  Hazard's  shoulder)  :  See 
here,  old  man,  I'm  awfully  sorry  about  this  affair. 

Jack  (with  a  gulp)  :  Oh,  I  dare  say  I  was  a  bit  too 
positive.  (Plaintively  )  Only  a  bulger  doesn't  "pull"  the 
ball  if  you  hold  it  right. 

Dr.  C. :    Of  course,  everybody  understands  that. 
Jack  (mournfully)  :    If  she  had  only  let  me  explain. 
Dr.  C.    (sympathetically):     Exactly.     (Apart)   What 
fools  these  golfers  be! 

Jack  :  But  I  mustn't  stay  here ;  you're  going  to  have 
your  class,  I  suppose.  (Uncertainly)  I  think  I'll  go  and 
work  up  my  "putting"  a  bit ;  it's  my  weak  point,  you  know. 
(Brightening  up)  You  can  get  a  tremendous  lot  of  practise 
with  a  tumbler  on  the  billiard-room  floor. 


152  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

Dr.  C. :  Yes;  that's  a  capital  idea;  it'll  do  you  no  end 
of  good,  and,  by  the  way,  Jack,  I  know  you're  not  a  drink- 
ing man,  but  I  brought  down  with  me  some  particularly 
choice  stuff — "St.  Nicholas  Club,  Private  Stock,"  you  know. 
(Crossing  over  to  a  cabinet)  I  keep  it  in  here,  and  if  you 
feel  inclined  for  a  nip,  help  yourself.  (Smiling)  Don't  scare 
at  the  label ;  it  won't  hurt  you. 

Jack  (going)  :  Thanks,  very  much,  but  I  seldom  in- 
dulge. I  find  it's  apt  to  make  me  a  little  wild  in  my  "ap- 
proach." (At  door,  L.)  I  can  make  that  perfectly  plain 
about  the  "bulger"  any  time  you  like.  You  might  tell  your 
sister  what  I  said  about  this  "pulling"  the  ball. 

Dr.  C.  (shaking  his  head)  :  I'm  afraid  that  Cupid  has 
no  chance  against  the  caddie. 

[He  bends  over  the  table  at  R.  C.  Enter  at  R.  C.  back 
Miss  Grace  Lofter,  Miss  Charlotte  Brassie,  and  Miss 
Sally  Driver.  They  wear  white  caps  and  large  aprons, 
and  each  has  an  immense  note-book.] 

Sally  (coming  down)  :  Good  morning,  Doctor  Cheviot. 

Dr.  C.  (looking  up)  :  Oh,  there  you  are.  (He  passes  by 
Sally,  who  holds  out  her  hand,  and  offers  his  to  Grace.) 
Good  morning,  Miss  Lofter.  (Aside)  Am  I  to  have  my  an- 
swer to-day?  (Aloud)  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Brassie? 
(Shakes  hands)  And  you,  too,  Miss  Driver?  It's  very  nice 
to  see  you  all  again,  and  to  be  able  to  resume  our  lessons. 
(Looking  around)  But  where  are  the  rest — Mrs.  Bunker 
and  Miss  Niblick  and  the  others? 

Sally:    Oh,  as  for  Miss  Niblick — 

[She  stops  and  giggles.] 

Dr.  C.  (puzzled):  Well? 

Sally:  It  is  really  very  unfortunate,  but  she  is  quite 
upset  about  poor  Mr.  Foozle. 

Dr.  C. :    Indeed ;  nothing  serious,  I  hope  ? 

Sally  :  Oh,  I  don't  think  so.  Dr.  Cleek,  who  is  in  at- 
tendance, says  that  it  is  merely  an  aggravated  case  of  "First 
Aid  to  the  Injured,"  and  that  he  hopes  to  make  it  all  right  in 
time.  But  poor  Anna  is  nearly  distracted  to  think  that  she 
had  put  it  on  wrong. 


FIRST  AID  TO  THE  INJURED  iS3 

Dr.  C. :  Put  it  on  wrong !    What  are  you  talking  about  ? 

Sally:  Why,  his  hand.  You  see,  he  slipped  on  the 
smooth  grass  at  the  "Punch-bowl"  hole  and  dislocated  his 
wrist.  Miss  Niblick  was  very  cool,  and  reduced  it  all  by 
herself,  only  she  made  a  mistake  and  put  it  back  this  way. 

[She  illustrates  her  meaning  by  twisting  her  hand 
around  and  back  upon  her  wrist.] 

Dr.  C. :    Great  Heavens ! 

Charlotte:  She  explained  to  Dr.  Geek  that  you  had 
told  her  how  to  do  it. 

Dr.  C.:I? 

Sally  :  She  had  it  all  drawn  out  with  diagrams  in  her 
notes,  only  she  happened  to  open  the  book  upside  down. 

Grace  (sympathetically)  :  Dr.  Cleek  was  very  nice 
about  it.    He  exonerated  you  entirely. 

Dr.  C.  (nervously  walking  up  and  down)  :  Too  bad ! 
too  bad !    I  wouldn't  have  had  it  happen  for  anything. 

Charlotte:  And  as  for  the  Putting-Green  girls,  it  has 
served  them  just  right. 

Dr.  C.  (resignedly)  :  What  have  they  been  doing? 

Charlotte:  Why,  they  were  both  arrested  day  before 
yesterday  over  at  Sandhurst,  and  fined  twenty-five  dollars 
apiece  for  practising  medicine  without  a  license.  They  are 
not  coming  to  the  class  any  longer. 

Dr.  C  (passing  his  handkerchief  over  his  forehead)  : 
Oh,  dear !    This  is  very  unfortunate. 

[Grace  passes  behind  table  and  gives  him  a  sympathetic 

hand.] 

Sally:  I  don't  think  that  Mrs.  Bunker  will  be  here 

either. 

[She  stops  atid  giggles.] 

Dr.  C.  (desperately)  :  Oh,  go  on;  don't  mind  me. 

Sally:  Well,  you  know  how  perfectly  crazy  she  has 
been  for  some  one  to  get  half-drowned,  so  that  she  could 
try  her  hand  at  resuscitation— her  specialty.  Of  course  no 
one  would  oblige  her ;  it  really  wasn't  to  be  expected ;  so 
yesterday  afternoon  she  persuaded  Mr.  Bunker  to  go  in 
bathing  with  her.    All  at  once  there  was  a  tremendous  com- 


154  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

motion,  and  Mr.  Bunker  disappeared.  Everybody  screamed 
and  ran  down  to  the  beach.  There  was  Mrs.  Bunker  still 
in  the  water,  and  looking  as  calm  as  you  please,  but  no  Mr. 
Bunker.  It  seemed  like  an  age  before  the  bathing-master 
found  him  and  pulled  him  out,  and  then  he  was  purple  in  the 
face,  and  had  swallowed  just  quarts  and  quarts  and  quarts 
of  nasty  salty  water. 

Dr.  C. :  Was  he  unconscious  ? 

Sally  :  Oh,  no ;  but  the  dreadful  part  of  it  was  that  as 
soon  as  he  could  speak  without  choking  he  flatly  accused 
Mrs.  Bunker  of  deliberately  tripping  him  up  and  then  sit- 
ting on  his  head.  He  even  intimated  that  it  had  something 
to  do  with  the  heavy  life  insurance  policy  that  he  had  just 
taken  out.    Awful,  wasn't  it? 

Dr.  C.  (smiling  involuntarily)  :  I  should  think  so. 

Sally:  He  wouldn't  give  Mrs.  Bunker  any  chance  to 
explain,  for  of  course  she  had  intended  to  bring  him  to. 

Dr.  C. :  Of  course. 

Charlotte:     We  were  all  perfectly  sure  of  that. 

Sally  :  And  the  end  of  it  was  that  he  went  right  off 
to  town  to  see  about  getting  a  divorce,  and  poor  Mrs.  Bun- 
ker is  perfectly  prostrated. 

Dr.  C.  (gravely)  :  Well,  young  ladies,  this  all  goes  to 
show  that  our  work  here  must  be  taken  seriously,  or  it  had 
better  be  given  up  altogether.  (Cheerfully)  However,  I 
expect  better  things  of  you  who  remain,  and  we  must  en- 
deavor to  retrieve  ourselves.  Perhaps  it  would  be  well  this 
morning  to  have  a  short  oral  examination  on  the  subjects 
we  have  been  over  instead  of  the  regular  lecture. 

All  (anxiously)  :  Examination! 

Dr.  C. :  Oh,  it  won't  be  very  formidable.  If  you  will 
kindly  be  seated. 

[They  bring  their  chairs  forward  in  front  of  the  table. 
Dr.  Cheviot  seats  himself  behind  it.] 

Dr.  C.  (looking  up)  :  Remember  now — simplicity,  clear- 
ness, conciseness.  (Referring  to  some  memoranda)  Per- 
haps Grace — er — Miss  Lofter  will  kindly  show  us  how  to 
make  a  tourniquet.    We  will  suppose  that  Miss  Brassie  has 


FIRST  AID  TO  THE  INJURED  155 

severed  an  artery  in  her  arm,  and  is  rapidly  bleeding  to 
death.  Please  stand  up,  Miss  Brassie.  Now,  then,  Miss 
Lofter. 

[Grace,  with  a  great  show  of  professional  skill,  pro- 
ceeds to  tie  a  scarlet  ribbon  across  Charlotte's  wrist.] 

Dr.  C. :  Above  the  cut,  if  you  please. 

[Grace  looks  confused,  and  tries  again.] 

Dr.  C.  {critically)  :  The  bow  is  very  tastefully  made, 
but  pardon  me  if  I  suggest  that  the  object  is  to  constrict 
and  not  necessarily  to  ornament  the  arm.  I  believe  that  I 
told  you  to  employ  a  stout  cord,  and  then  by  twisting  with  a 
small  stick — 

Grace  {nervously)  :  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  had  quite 
forgotten  about  the  stick,  but  I  think  I  can  find  one  outside. 

[Goes  over  L.] 

Dr.  C.  {gravely)  :  I  am  afraid  you  are  too  late.  The 
patient  {looking  at  his  watch)  has  been  dead  at  least  three 
minutes. 

Grace  {falteringly)  :  I — I  am  so  sorry. 

[She  goes  up  with  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes.] 

Dr.  C.  {repentantly)  :  What  a  brute  I  am ! 

[He  follows  her  up  stage  and  whispers  something  in 
her  ear.] 

Sally  {sotto  voce  to  Charlotte)  :  Somebody  else 
was  injured  that  time. 

Dr.  C.  {bringing  Grace  down)  :  It  really  doesn't  make 
the  slightest  difference,  not  the  least  in  the  world.  We're  all 
liable  to  make  mistakes ;  I  do  it  myself.  Please  don't  think 
anything  more  about  it.  {Jocularly)  I'll  make  all  the  neces- 
sary explanations  to  Miss  Brassie's  sorrowing  family. 

Grace  {smiling  faintly)  :  Thank  you  so  much. 

Dr.  C. :  Now  let  us  begin  again.  Will  you,  Miss  "Driver, 
indicate  the  proper  treatment  for  a  fainting  turn? 

Sally  {shutting  note-book  with  a  bang  and  reciting 
glibly)  :  Hold  the  patient  firmly  that  he  may  not  injure  him- 
self during  the  paroxysms.  In  extreme  cases  pass  a  stout 
strap  around  the  chest,  confining  the  arms  close  to  the  body. 


156  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

At  short  intervals  hypodermic  injections  of  weak  water  and 
water — no,  weak  brandy  and  brandy — 

Dr.  C. :    Pardon  me,  but  for  a  faint. 

Sally  (with  a  hasty  glance  at  her  book)  :  Oh,  laws! 
that  was  for  fits.  I  just  happened  to  see  the  letter  F,  and  of 
course  I  thought — he !  he !  he ! 

[She  giggles  unaffected  enjoyment.] 

Dr.  C.  (annoyed)  :  Really,  Miss  Driver,  this  ill-timed 

levity (Apart)  I'm  devoutly  thankful  that  old  Dr.  Cleek 

didn't  hear  that.    (Aloud)Miss  Driver,  let  me  beg  of  you — 

[He  sits  back,  frowning  gloomily.] 

Sally  (with  unrestrained  merriment):  Ha!  ha!  "In 
extreme  cases — paroxysms — hypodermic  injections."  Oh, 
doctor,  it  will  kill  me — he!  he!  he!  he!  (Recovering  her- 
self) I'm  sure  I  beg  your  pardon. 

Dr.  C.  (stiffly)  :  Oh,  certainly. 

Sally  (penitently)  :  It  was  all  the  fault  of  that  odious 
letter  F.  I  had  them  both  on  the  same  page,  fits  and  faints, 
and — 

[She  stuffs  her  handkerchief  in  her  mouth,  and  bends 
over  her  book.  Dr.  Cheviot  arranges  his  papers  and  pro- 
ceeds to  boil  within.    A  pause.] 

Dr.  C.  (to  Charlotte,  who  has  been  studying  atten- 
tively through  everything)  :  Did  you  make  a  special  study 
of  any  particular  subject,  Miss  Brassie? 

Charlotte  (looking  up)  :  Yes ;  I  took  the  resuscitation 
of  the  drowned. 

Dr.  C. :  If  you  will  be  so  kind,  then,  and  please  be  very, 
very  careful. 

[Sally  involuntarily  giggles,  and  Dr.  Cheviot  looks 
at  her  sternly.] 

Charlotte  (speaking  very  slowly  and  distinctly)  :  Lay 
the  patient  upon  his  back  so  that  the  water  in  the  mouth  may 
run  out. 

Dr.  C  (kindly)  :  You  mean  lay  him  upon  his  face. 

Charlotte  (with  dignity)  :  If  you  prefer  it  that  way. 
(Continuing)  Then  turn  him  over,  taking  care  to  keep  the 
chest  depressed  and  the  head  slightly  elevated. 


FIRST  AID  TO  THE  INJURED  157 

Dr.  C.  {interrupting)  :  The  head  depressed  and  the 
chest  elevated. 

Charlotte  :  Didn't  I  say  that  ? 

Dr.  C.  {shortly) :  No. 

Charlotte  {calmly)  :  I  beg  your  pardon.  {Continu- 
ing) Move  the  arms  gently  up  and  down  so  as  to  induce 
artificial  refrigeration. 

Dr.  C.  {wearily)  :  Respiration,  if  you  please. 

Charlotte  {offended)  :  That's  what  I  said.  {Continu- 
ing) Finally,  and  this  is  of  great  importance:  Roll  the  pa- 
tient upon  a  barrel. 

Dr.  C  {impatiently)  :  Do  not  roll  upon  a  barrel. 

Charlotte  {insistently)  :  You  distinctly  told  us  to  roll 
him  upon  a  barrel. 

Dr.  C.  {restraining  himself)  :  Miss  Brassie,  I  distinctly 
told  you  not  to  roll  him  upon  a  barrel. 

Charlotte  {calmly  argumentative)  :  I  can  show  it  to 
you  in  my  note-book. 

[She  offers  him  the  book.] 

Dr.  C.  {waving  it  back)  :  But  I  tell  you  that  your  notes 
are  wrong. 

Charlotte  {coldly)  :  Do  you  wish  me  to  correct  them? 

Dr.  C. :  If  you  will  be  so  good. 

Charlotte  {with  dignity)  :  Certainly.  {She  makes  the 
correction)  It  now  reads:  "Do  not  roll  upon  a  barrel."  Is 
that  satisfactory? 

Dr.  C. :  Perfectly.  {Passing  his  handkerchief  over 
his  forehead)  I  think  that  will  do  for  to-day. 

[The  telephone  bell  rings  violently.] 

Charlotte:  But  the  patient  is  still  unconscious. 

Dr.  C.  {rising  and  going  up  to  telephone  at  R.  C.  back)  : 
Excuse  me ;  it  may  be  a  call  for  me.  {Answering)  Yes ;  this 
is  Dr.  Cheviot — what?  Speak  louder,  please.  {He  strikes 
the  side  of  the  bar  excitedly.)  Hey!  Say  that  again.  {He 
listens  with  a  horror-stricken  countenance.)  Very  well,  I'll 
come.  {He  hangs  up  the  receiver  and  comes  down  slowly. 
Speaking  with  great  deliberation.)  May  I  inquire  which  one 


158  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

of  you  young  ladies  prescribed  this  morning  for  old  Mr. 
Dormie's  sore  throat? 

[The  girls  look  at  each  other  but  no  one  speaks.] 

Dr.  C.  (still  icily  deliberate)  :  Fortunately  Mr.  Dormie 
didn't  take  the  prescription  himself;  he  tried  it  on  Mrs. 
Stymie's  pug  dog.  Mr.  Dormie  is  now  feeling  very  thank- 
ful, as  the  wretched  animal  immediately  turned  green  about 
the  mouth  and  went  into  a  fit.  (Sarcastically)  Perhaps 
Miss  Driver  would  like  to  attend  the  case.  (Going  to  the 
table  and  taking  his  hat)  I  suppose  I  must  do  what  I  can, 
though  I  don't  think  there  is  much  chance.  (Going  up  and 
speaking  with  suppressed  agitation)  As  it  happens,  Mrs. 
Stymie  was  my  one  rich  patient,  and  that  dog  was  worth 
fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  year  to  me.  (Bowing)  Ladies, 
I  have  the  honor  to  bid  you  a  very  good  morning. 

[Exit  R.  C.  back. 

Sally  (jumping  up)  :  Well,  of  all  the  rude,  nasty — 

Grace  (stopping  her)  :  Girls,  I  did  that. 

Sally  and  Charlotte  :   Yon  ! 

Grace  (despairingly)  :  Yes,  I. 

Sally  (explosively)  :  Why  couldn't  Mr.  Dormie  have 
taken  the  medicine  himself?     Horrid  old  suspicious  thing. 

Charlotte:  I'm  sure  he  wasn't  worth  fifteen  hundred 
dollars  a  year  to  anybody. 

Sally  (mournfully)  :  Fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  year ! 
You  can  never  make  that  up  to  him,  even  though  you  are 
an  heiress.    There's  no  way  in  which  he  could  take  it. 

Charlotte  (at  window)  :  I  do  believe  that  Belle  is 
breaking  the  record.  Such  a  crowd  following  her — she's 
just  going  to  drive. 

[Exit,  L.  C.  back. 

Sally  (bolting  out) :    You  don't  say! 

[Exit  hastily,  L.  C.  back. 

Grace  (with  sudden  resolution)  :  But  there  is  a  way, 
and  I  shall  take  it. 

[Hazard  appears  at  door,  L.,  with  a  bulger  driver  and 
a  large  Hie.] 

Jack  :  Beg  pardon — thought  the  class  was  over. 


FIRST  AID  TO  THE  INJURED  159 

[Enters  slowly.] 

Grace  (going)  :  So  it  is,  and  I  am  just  going — to  an- 
nounce my  engagement  to  Dr.  Cheviot. 

Jack  (shaking  hands)  :  I'm  awfully  glad,  Miss  Lofter. 
You  don't  play  golf,  do  you? 

Grace  (going  up)  :  No,  I  don't  know  a  cleek  from  a 
clam. 

Jack  :  And  neither  does  Cheviot.  (Holding  open  door 
at  R.  C.  back)  Never  learn,  as  you  value  your  eternal  hap- 
piness. Never!  never!  never!  (Grace  exit,  R.  C.  back. 
Jack  comes  down.)  Yes,  they'll  be  happy  as  the 
day  is  long.  (Filing  away  at  the  club)  I'm  changing 
all  my  bulgers  to  stright-faced  ones,  but  I'm  afraid 
it's  too  late  now.  (Walking  up  and  down  nerv- 
ously) Hang  it  all !  I  must  get  something  to  tone  me 
up  a  bit.  (Desperately)  I'll  have  some  of  Austin's  whis- 
key, even  if  it  should  ruin  my  "iron-play."  (He  goes  to  the 
cabinet  at  R.  C.  and  takes  out  a  bottle  and  glasses.  He  pours 
out  a  drink  and  places  the  bottle  on  small  table  at  L.  C.  so 
as  to  conceal  the  label  from  the  sight  of  the  audience.  He 
seats  himself  in  easy-chair  at  L.  C.  front.  Drinks.)  That 
isn't  bad  whiskey.  I  rather  think  that  it  might  improve 
my  "iron-play."  (After  a  moment's  pause)  It  seems  rather 
warm  in  here.     (Closing  his  eyes)     Very  warm. 

[He  sleeps.  Sounds  of  hand-clapping  and  applause 
heard  from  without.  Miss  Cheviot  appears  at  windoiv, 
L.  C.  back.] 

Miss  C  (speaking  off)  :  I'm  going  to  put  my  score  up. 
(She  enters,  and  comes  down,  waving  her  score  card  tri- 
umphantly.) I've  done  it — broke  the  record.  (Stopping, 
and  looking  around)  What  have  they  done  with  the  bulletin 
board?  (She  catches  sight  of  the  bottle  standing  on  the 
table.)  What's  that?  (She  suddenly  snatches  up  the  bottle 
with  a  face  of  horror. )  Oh,  never !  It  can't  be !  ( Glancing 
at  Hazard  asleep  in  the  chair)  Jack,  and  unconscious 
already !  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?  Help !  Help !  (Running 
Wp  to  window  at  L.  C.  back,  and  beckoning  frantically.). 
Grace !    Sally !    Charlotte ! 


i(5o  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

[Grace,  Sally,  and  Charlotte  appear  at  windows, 
L.  C.  back.] 

Sally  (entering) :  Belle!    What  is  it? 

[The  others  follow  her  in.] 

Miss  C.  (pointing  to  bottle)  :    There ! 

[The  girls  are  horror-stricken.] 

Miss  C. :    Tell  me — tell  me — 

[She  is  unable  to  proceed.] 

Sally  (recovering  herself)  :  We  must  keep  our  heads. 
Charlotte,  your  note-book! 

[Miss  Cheviot  kneels  at  Hazard's  right  and  begins  to 
chafe  his  hand.  Grace  nervously  ties  a  succession  of  tour- 
niquets on  his  left  arm.  Charlotte  anxiously  turns  the 
leaves  of  her  note-book,  with  Sally  looking  over  her  shoul- 
der.] 

Sally  (coming  down):  Grace!  run,  quick — the  doc- 
tor!   (To  Charlotte)    Have  you  found  it — the  treatment? 

[Grace  exit  hastily,  L.  C.  back.] 

Charlotte  (calmly)  :  Yes,  and  I  will  take  charge  of 
the  case.  Let  us  all  keep  perfectly  cool.  (Consulting  book) 
Is  the  patient  still  unconscious  ? 

[Hazard  has  opened  his  eyes  and  is  looking  about  him 
in  blank  astonishment.] 

Miss  C.  (pressing  his  hand  to  her  heart) :  Jack !  Oh, 
Jack! 

Jack:    Belle! 

[He  tries  to  rise,  but  Sally  holds  him  down.] 

Miss  C.  (hysterically)  :  Jack,  dearest  Jack,  do  you 
really  know  me? 

Jack  (incredidously)  :    It  must  be  all  a  dream. 

[Closes  his  eyes.] 

Charlotte  (decisively)  :  We  mustn't  let  him  get  un- 
conscious again.  Burn  some  feathers,  Sally.  Pull  his  hair, 
Belle!    Well,  if  you  won't  I  will.     (She  does  so.) 

Jack  (opening  his  eyes) :  Ouch!  (Sees  Miss  Chev- 
iot)    Belle!    Is  it  really  you? 

Miss  C.  (anxiously)  :  You  mustn't  say  a  word,  dear. 
We're  doing  everything  we  can  for  you. 


FIRST  AID  TO  THE  INJURED  161 

Jack:  All  right.  Keep  hold  of  my  hand,  and  I'll  be 
like  a  lamb. 

Charlotte:  Never  mind  the  feathers,  Sally.  Here, 
take  the  book  while  I  prepare  the  antidote. 

[She  goes  to  the  table  and  pours  out  a  dose.] 

Jack  (with  some  uneasiness) :    But  won't  you  tell  me — 

Miss  C. :    Hush !  hush !    Please,  dear  Jack. 

Charlotte  (administering  the  dose)  :    There! 

[She  manages  to  spill  it  all  over  him.] 

Sally  (snatching  up  the  medicine -bottle)  :  Charlotte ! 
What  have  you  done?  You've  given  him  twenty  drops  of 
strychnine  instead  of  the  antidote. 

Jack  (cheerfully)  :  No,  you  haven't — it  all  went  down 
my  collar. 

Charlotte  (severely)  :  Well,  it  can't  be  helped  now. 
You  would  move  your  head  around.  Oh,  I  knew  I'd  for- 
gotten something.    We  must  get  him  upon  his  head  at  once. 

Sally  (reading  from  book)  :  "Get  the  patient  upon 
his  feet  as  quickly  as  possible." 

Charlotte  (unwilling  to  yield  the  point)  :  I'm  sure 
the  doctor  said  head. 

Sally:  Well,  look  for  yourself.  (Thrusting  the  book 
into  Charlotte's  hand)  We  must  do  something.  Take 
hold  of  his  arm,  Belle. 

[Miss  Cheviot  and  Sally  assist  Jack  to  rise.] 

Charlotte  (consulting  notes)  :  I  am  certain  that  I 
am  right. 

Sally  (resolutely)  :  Take  his  other  arm,  Charlotte, 
and  I'll  push  behind.    We  must  keep  him  moving. 

Jack  (disposed  to  resist)  :    Oh,  I  say,  now! 

Miss  C.  (pleadingly)  :    Jack !  for  my  sake. 

Jack  (submitting)  :  All  right,  only  keep  hold  of  my 
hand. 

[The  quartet  cross  over  and  back,  Salty  pushing  from 
behind.] 

Sally  (breathlessly)  :  Keep  him  moving,  keep  him 
moving. 


162  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

Jack  (at  the  top  of  his  voice)  :  But  what  is  this  all 
about?     I  will  know! 

Charlotte  (with  dignity)  :  Since  you  insist  upon  it, 
Mr.  Hazard — you  are  poisoned. 

Jack  (horror-stricken)  :  POISONED !  But  I  don't 
insist  upon  it. 

Miss  C.  (pulling  him  along)  :    Oh,  Jack !  dear  Jack ! 

Sally  (pushing)  :  Keep  him  moving,  keep  him  mov- 
ing. 

[Enter  Dr.  Cheviot,  in  haste,  L.  C.  back.] 

Dr.  C.  (running  down)  :  What's  all  this?  Jack  pois- 
oned !    Impossible !    Let  me  see  him. 

Sally:  Of  course  he  is.  Look  here.  (She  snatches 
up  the  zvhiskey-bottle  and  reads  the  label  aloud.)  "LAUDA- 
NUM!   A  DEADLY  POISON!    TAKE  CARE!" 

Dr.  C.  (taking  the  bottle):  Oh!  (He  pulls  out  the 
cork  and  sniffs  at  it. )  Exactly ;  it's  my  own  particular  prij 
vate  poison. 

Jack  (puzzled)  :    Why,  you  gave  it  to  me  yourself. 

Dr.  C. :  Of  course  I  did,  and  I  told  you  not  to  scare  at 
the  label.  I  don't  propose  to  have  my  "St.  Nicholas  Club 
Private  Stock"  sampled  by  everybody  in  the  club. 

All:    Oh! 

Sally  (indignantly)  :  It's  a  beastly  shame;  that's  what 
it  is. 

[She  joins  Charlotte,  who  is  still  reading  her  note- 
book.] 

Dr.  C. :    You  should  stick  to  fits,  Miss  Driver. 

[He  goes  up  and  joins  Grace,  who  enters,  L.  C.  back.] 

Jack  (turning)'.    Belle! 

Miss  C. :    Don't  say  another  word ;  it  was  all  my  fault. 

Jack  (tenderly)  :  I  was  too  hasty.  And  perhaps  a 
"bulger"  does  "pull"  the  ball.  I've  changed  all  mine  to 
straight-faced. 

Miss  C. :  Don't,  Jack ;  I  can't  bear  it.  I've — I've  just 
broken  the  record. 

Jack  (admiringly)  :    Broken  the  record! 


FIRST  AID  TO  THE  INJURED  163 

Miss  C.  (contritely)  :  Yes,  by  two  strokes ;  and — 
and — I  did  it  with  a  brassie  bulger.    Oh,  Jack ! 

[She  buries  her  face  on  his  shoulder.] 

Dr.  C.  (coming  down  with  Grace)  :  My  dearest,  there's 
just  one  thing  more. 

Grace  (looking  down)  :    Yes. 

Dr.  C. :  I  pulled  the  pug  through,  after  all,  and  Mrs. 
Stymie  is  profoundly  grateful.  My  practise  there  will  be 
worth  two  thousand  five  hundred  dollars  in  the  future. 
Perhaps  now — that  is,  under  the  present  circumstances — 
your  answer — 

Grace  (giving  him  her  hand) :    It  is  still  the  same. 

Charlotte  (looking  up)  :  Could  we  have  done  any 
more,  doctor  ?  It  was  impossible  to  get  Mr.  Hazard  on  his 
head. 

Sally  (sarcastically) :  And  he  simply  would  NOT 
take  the  twenty  drops  of  strychnine. 

Dr.  C.  (turning)  :  My  dear  young  ladies,  you  have 
handled  the  case  to  perfection,  and  I  congratulate  you  with 
all  my  heart.  For  even  if  you  were  not  actually  called  upon 
to  save  life,  you  have  at  least  succeeded  in  making  it  worth 
living  for  two  miserable  bachelors,  who  cannot  thank  you 
enough  for  your  prompt  and  efficient  tender  of 

First  Aid  to  the  Injured. 

[All  join  hands  and  bow  profoundly.] 
Miss  C.    Jack.     Sally.    Charlotte.    Dr.  Cheviot. 
Grace. 

CURTAIN. 


NATHAN  BONE'S  SKELETONS 

BY 

ANTHONY  KIRBY  GILL 


165 


NATHAN  BONE'S  SKELETONS 
(Period   1779) 


«T71HAT  happened  to  Nathan  Bone,"  began  Castle- 
^^  bridge,  in  his  peculiarly  deliberate  manner,  as  we 
SEgj  were  sitting  round  the  hearth  in  the  Banqueting 
Sail  Chamber  at  Bathersberry  Hall  one  night,  "was 
told  me  by  somebody  who  knew  him  as  well  as  anybody 
did ;  but  as  he  cannot  correctly  be  said  to  have  been  known 
at  all,  this,  perhaps,  is  not  saying  much.  Bone  was  an 
antiquarian,  and  a  learned  man,  it  is  believed.  No  one 
knew  where  he  came  from;  no  one  knew  who  he  really 
was.  No  doubt  he  was  a  little  mad.  His  ways  were  not 
the  ways  of  other  men,  and  his  peculiarities  were  too  pro- 
nounced to  be  merely  such.  He  never  spoke  to  any  one, 
with  the  exception  of  a  niece  of  his,  who  lived  with  him. 
No  matter  where  he  was,  no  matter  what  happened,  he 
would  never  exchange  a  single  word  with  anybody  but  this 
niece— not  even  with  his  housekeeper,  who  was  rather  good- 
looking,  and  who  secretly  doted  on  him.  Daisy— that  was 
his  niece's  name— was  a  girl  of  twenty-three,  exceedingly 
pretty,  and  naturally  had  a  lover.  He  was  tolerably  well- 
to-do,  'tis  said,  and  was  dying  to  marry  her.  But  the 
antiquarian  would  not  hear  of  it.  He  swore  that  she  should 
never  marry,  with  his  consent,  as  long  as  he  lived.  And 
the  worst  of  it  was,  he  was  so  remarkably  hale  and  hearty 
that  he  promised  to  live  another  forty  years,  at  the  very 

least 

"The  lover,  whose  name  was  Ralph  Thompson,  was  a 
fellow  of  some  spirit,  and  consequently  used  to  press  the 
girl  to  run  off  with  him.  Daisy,  however,  persisted  in  saying 
that  she  would  never  marry  him,  save  with  her  uncle's  con- 
sent, even  if  she  had  to  wait  fifty  years;  and  so,  what  with 

167 


i68  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

one  thing  and  another,  you  can  easily  imagine  the  fix  that 
they  were  in. 

"Thompson,  of  course,  had  interviews  with  the  anti- 
quarian :  told  him  how  he  loved  his  niece,  how  he  wished  to 
marry  her,  and  how  happy  he  would  make  them  if  he 
would  only  give  in.  But  it  was  no  use  whatever.  In  the 
first  place,  Nathan  Bone  never  used  to  answer  a  word ;  and 
in  the  second  place,  he  never  used  to  listen.  Of  course 
Thompson  was  not  allowed  to  enter  the  house;  and  if  by 
any  chance  the  two  met  anywhere  Bone  would  scowl  at  him, 
and  wave  him  aside  as  he  would  an  importunate  beggar. 

"But  sometimes,  when  he  was  out  hunting  up  old  fossils, 
or  purchasing  musty  old  curios,  his  niece  would  accompany 
her  lover  to  his  house,  where  she  was  always  most  favor- 
ably received  by  his  parents,  and  where  they  no  doubt  made 
up  for  a  little  of  their  misfortune,  as  was  only  natural.  How 
long  this  state  of  things  would  have  lasted  nobody  can  tell. 
How  long  it  did  last  almost  everybody  knows. 

"On  a  Christmas  Eve  Bone  was  always  in  a  bad  humor ; 
and  on  the  Christmas  Eve  that  this  affair  happened  he  was 
more  than  usually  so.  He  had  been  up  to  London  for  two 
days,  and  had  returned  by  the  coach,  which  was  naturally 
crowded,  and  Bone  hated  a  crowd.  What  was  more,  the 
people  were  all  talking  about  the  holidays,  and  the  capital 
times  before  them,  wishing  one  another  a  happy  Christmas, 
and  telling  each  other  all  sorts  of  uninteresting  little  things 
about  themselves,  as  people  will  do  at  this  time  of  the  year ; 
and  one  of  the  inside  passengers  was  taking  home  a  turkey, 
and  as  it  was  hanging  up  beside  the  driver's  seat,  he  was 
particularly  anxious  about  it,  and  kept  getting  out  to  ex- 
amine it  every  time  the  coach  stopped.  Then  there  was  a 
man  sitting  next  to  him  who  kept  making  funny  remarks, 
at  which  everybody  laughed  very  much.  All  these  little 
things  annoyed  Bone,  who  maintained  a  contemptuous 
silence  the  whole  way.  And  then,  as  if  this  was  not  already 
enough,  he  found,  when  he  got  home,  that  his  niece  had 
decorated  the  rooms  with  holly  and  evergreen  and  made  it 
look  almost  cheerful.    This  naturally  upset  him  still  more, 


NATHAN  BONE'S  SKELETONS  i6g 

for  he  had  a  great  antipathy  to  everything  cheerful;  and, 
last  of  all,  the  waifs  came  and  played,  and  sang  Christmas 
carols  in  front  of  the  house  until  he  drove  them  away  by 
emptying  cold  water  over  them. 

"Then  in  a  thoroughly  bad  humor,  he  went  upstairs  to 
the  room  in  which  he  kept  his  curios.  It  was  now  a  quarter 
to  twelve.  Daisy  happened  to  glance  at  the  clock,  and 
noticed  the  time.  It  was  not  a  large  room,  but  it  was  very 
old-fashioned,  and  was  stocked  with  the  most  extraordinary 
things — fossils,  shells,  pieces  of  old  armor,  bones  of  pre- 
historic animals  and  birds,  green  snakes  coiled  up  in  bottles, 
skulls  of  criminals,  coins,  weapons,  pieces  of  pottery,  and  the 
fossil  of  a  cat.  In  fact,  one  might  have  taken  it  for  a 
curiosity  shop.  But  Bone  was  the  only  one  who  ever  en- 
tered it,  so  that  that  made  no  difference.  He  used  to  spend 
most  of  his  time  here,  though  what  he  did  is  still  a  mystery. 
Some  said  that  he  was  something  of  a  magician ;  others  that 
he  had  great  hoards  of  money  hidden  away  somewhere  in 
this  room,  and  that  he  used  to  come  here  at  night  to  take 
it  out  and  gloat  over  it.  But  it  is  no  use  repeating  all  the 
things  that  he  was  said  to  be.  He  had  brought  a  long, 
narrow  box  with  him  from  town,  which  he  had  himself 
carried  up  to  this  room.  What  was  in  it,  Daisy  and  the 
servants  could  not  imagine.  And  no  doubt  you  will  think 
it  strange  when  I  tell  you  that  it  contained  a  skeleton.  What 
he  wanted  it  for,  goodness  only  knows.  Already  there 
was  one  grinning  thing  in  the  room.  Anyhow,  the  fact 
remains  that  he  bought  another,  and  I  believe,  bought  it 
because  of  the  fearful  grin  that  it  had. 

"When  he  had  locked  the  door,  he  began  to  open  the 
box,  and  he  soon  discovered  that  the  jolting  of  the  coach 
had  caused  one  of  the  skeleton's  legs  to  come  unfastened. 
It  was  not  broken;  it  had  merely  become  detached  at  the 
joint.  He  picked  the  skeleton  up  in  his  arms,  carried  it 
across  the  room,  and  stood  it  up  by  means  of  an  appliance 
which  fitted  round  the  thing's  neck.  This  done,  he  stepped 
back  and  looked  at  it.  He  had  forgotten  to  light  the  candles, 
and  the  only  light  in  the  room  came  from  the  fire.    When 


i;o  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

he  had  surveyed  the  thing  long  enough,  he  went  to  the 
hearth,  took  up  the  poker,  and  began  to  stir  the  logs ;  and  he 
was  still  bending  down,  with  his  back  to  the  skeleton,  when 
twelve  o'clock  sounded.  No  sooner  had  it  done  so  than  a 
hollow  voice  exclaimed : 

"  'Now  then,  there !    Look  sharp  with  that  fire.' 

"Bone  was  not  a  man  to  be  easily  startled.  But  this 
voice,  on  account  of  its  unearthly  sound,  fairly  made  him 
jump.  He  dropped  the  poker,  and  faced  round.  There  was 
nobody  to  be  seen.  He  was  alone  in  the  room.  Not  a  sound 
was  to  be  heard. 

"  'Come  along !  come  along !'  the  voice  went  on. 

"And  if  you  will  believe  me,"  said  Castlebridge,  look- 
ing round  upon  us  very  seriously,  "it  was  that  skeleton 
speaking.  It  was,  indeed.  Bone  began  to  tremble.  He 
stared  hard  at  the  thing,  and  the  thing  stared  back  at  him 
out  of  its  eyeless  sockets.  The  firelight  flickered  upon  its 
head.  Where  its  eyes  had  once  been  were  two  deep,  shadowy 
cavities.     Its  grinning  face  looked  frightful. 

"  'Do  you  hear  ?'  it  cried,  beginning  to  move  a  little. 

"'What's  the  matter?'  said  Bone,  stepping  back  a  few 
paces. 

"  'Matter !'  said  the  skeleton  indignantly, — 'why  a  good 
deal.    Where's  my  other  leg?' 

"  'In  the  box,"  replied  Bone. 

"  'Oh,  indeed !'  said  the  skeleton  ironically.  'In  the 
box,  is  it !    And  what's  it  doing  there  ?' 

"  'I  haven't  had  time  to  put  it  on  yet,'  said  Bone,  very 
much  startled :  for  it  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  he  had 
ever  talked  with  a  skeleton. 

"  'And  what  business  have  you  ever  had  to  take  it  off,  I 
should  like  to  know  ?' 

"  'I  didn't  take  it  off,'  Bone  replied.     'It  came  off.' 

"  'Came  off !'  repeated  the  skeleton  indignantly.  'Odds 
graves  and  gibbets !  then  bring  it  here,  and  put  it  on  again ; 
and  undo  this  cranked  thing  at  the  back  of  my  neck !' 

"  'Strange !'  muttered  Bone — 'strange !' 

"Nevertheless,  he  brought  the  skeleton's  other  leg  from 


rp  with  that  I 

■ 

.one  in  the  ro 


!)n\   ('//  i/--(  <>/-s-   r.i  /.v/c 

; 


^B^^~ 

1                   1 

1     jJi3 

1          -^^  W^^'9^ ' 

■■  ■ 

imk 

:;.;  ; 

1p 

!  BH  ■ 

■■  ■ 

■■  ■ 

^SJ^SfiH  & 

i 

f&     |pj*    J# 

» 

:tf;:' 

NATHAN  BONE'S  SKELETONS         m 

the  box  and  fastened  it  on,  keeping  his  eye  on  the  thing 
the  while  to  see  that  it  did  not  do  him  any  mischief;  and 
then  he  unscrewed  the  fastening  which  held  it  to  the  wall. 

"  'That's  it,'  said  the  skeleton,  moving  its  head  from 
side  to  side.  'Now  help  me  to  that  chair  by  the  fire.  Stay ! 
First  of  all,  have  a  look  at  my  joints.' 

"Bone  lit  a  candle,  and  did  as  he  was  requested.  'This 
left  knee's  a  bit  shaky,'  he  said. 

"  'I'm  shaky  all  over,  it  strikes  me !'  said  the  skeleton. 

"  'I'll  just  put  a  fresh  bit  of  wire  round  this  articula- 
tion ;  then  I  think  you'll  do,'  said  Bone.  'You've  got  a  bit 
chipped  off  the  top  of  your  tibia.  That's  what  makes  it  feel 
so  loose.  I  shouldn't  bend  too  much,  if  I  were  you,'  he 
added,  as  the  skeleton  stooped  to  look  at  its  legs.  'Your 
back  isn't  very  first-rate.' 

"  'What's  the  matter  with  it  ?'  asked  the  skeleton 
testily. 

"  'Well,  it's  beginning  to  crumble  a  little  in  places,'  said 
Bone.  'You're  a  bone  short,  too,  in  the  dorsal  region,  I 
see.' 

"  'Ah !'  said  the  skeleton  nervously, — 'ah  !  I  hope  this 
room  is  fairly  dry.' 

"  T  hope  so  too,'  said  Bone. 

"  'I  don't  think  that  journey  did  me  any  good,'  the 
skeleton  observed  thoughtfully. 

"  T  don't  think  it  did,'  said  Bone.  'Just  hold  on  to 
something  a  minute,  will  you?  while  I  put  this  knee  to 
rights.    That's  it.    Now  let's  see  how  you  work.' 

"  'Be  careful !'  said  the  skeleton,  as  Bone  began  to 
move  the  lower  part  of  the  leg  backwards  and  forwards. 

"  'It's  all  right,'  replied  Bone ;  'I've  got  hold  of  you. 
Now  then ;  see  if  you  can  walk.' 

"The  skeleton  took  a  couple  of  steps,  then  stopped. 

"  'This  right  hip- joint  works  very  stiffly/  it  said. 

"  'I'll  look  it  over  in  a  minute,'  said  Bone.  Tt's  the 
head  of  the  trochanter,  I'm  afraid.  It's  a  bit  worn,  I  fancy. 
You  sit  down  here  and  keep  quiet ;  and  don't  you  lean  back 
more  than  you  can  help.' 


i72  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

"  'I  won't/  said  the  skeleton.  'Odds  gallows  and 
graves !  how  I  do  creak,  to  be  sure !' 

"And  then  down  it  sat  in  the  chair,  and  Bone  unfas- 
tened its  right  leg  and  took  it  off  and  examined  it.  In 
order  to  do  this  properly  he  was  obliged  to  light  the  other 
candles ;  and  no  sooner  had  he  done  so  than  he  was  startled 
to  hear  a  second  voice,  which  was  even  more  hollow  and 
more  unearthly  than  the  first. 

"  'What  an  extraordinary  thing !'  it  said  gravely. 

"  'The  devil !  the  devil !'  exclaimed  the  antiquarian, 
starting. 

"  'Pardon  me,'  said  the  second  skeleton  slowly ;  for 
upon  my  word,  it  was  that  one  talking  now. 

"  'I  must  be  crazy,'  muttered  Bone  to  himself;  'I  must 
be  crazy.' 

"  'I  was  about  to  observe,'  the  second  skeleton  went 
on,  'that  I  am  surprised  to  meet  an  old  friend  here.  .  .  . 
Who'd  expect  to  see  Adam  Goodman  after  all  these  years  ?' 

"Now,  when  this  name  was  mentioned,  the  first  skele- 
ton gave  a  bit  of  a  start,  and  turned  half  round  in  its  chair. 
In  doing  so,  one  of  its  arms  dropped  off. 

"  'Who  mentioned  Adam  Goodman's  name  ?'  it  said, 
looking  as  surprised  as  it  is  possible  for  a  skeleton  to  look. 

"  'I  did,'  replied  the  second  skeleton.  And  then,  I  am 
told,  without  the  least  assistance  it  stepped  down  from  its 
box  and  walked  over  to  the  hearth,  and  stood  before  the 
other  one. 

"  'Will  Draggs,  the  hangman!'  exclaimed  the  first,  look- 
ing very  much  taken  aback. 

"  'The  same,'  replied  the  other. 

"  'Why,  it  gives  me  quite  a  turn  to  see  you  again !' 
gasped  the  first  skeleton,  shaking  a  little. 

"  'I  dare  say  it  does.' 

"And  the  second  skeleton  sat  down  in  the  chair  opposite, 
making  a  gruesome  creaking  noise  as  it  did  so,  that  was  hor- 
rible to  listen  to.  Bone  did  not  speak  a  word.  He  sat  down 
on  a  stool  between  the  two ;  and  there  he  stopped  till  the  end. 

"  'I  was  wishing  I  could  come  across  you  somewhere  or 


NATHAN  BONE'S  SKELETONS  173 

other/  the  second  skeleton  observed,  after  a  short  pause. 
'I've  got  a  secret  to  tell  you.' 

"  'What's  that?'  said  the  other. 

"  'It's  about  that  little  affair  you  were  hanged  for,'  said 
the  second  skeleton,  very  slowly. 

"  'I  didn't  murder  him !'  said  the  first  skeleton. 

"  'No.  But  you  were  hanged  for  it.  .  .  .  And  I 
hanged  you.' 

"  'So  you  did,  so  you  did !'  said  the  first  skeleton.  'Still, 
I  didn't  murder  him.' 

"There  was  a  pause.    Then  the  second  skeleton  said : 

"  'I  know  it.' 

"'Eh?' 

"  'I  know  it.' 

"  'How  do  you  know  it  ?' 

"The  second  skeleton  stared  at  the  other  for  a  full  min- 
ute, its  ghastly  grin  quite  terrifying  old  Bone.  Then  it 
said :    'Because  I  did.' 

"  'You  murdered  him !' 

"  'Ay.' 

"There  was  another  pause. 

"  'Well,  that  is  odd !'  said  the  first  skeleton,  at  last. 

"  'So  I  thought  when  I  was  arranging  your  drop.  I 
gave  you  a  good  drop,  I  remember — a  very  good  drop.' 

"  'So  you  did,  so  you  did !  .  .  .  And  to  think  we 
should  be  sitting  here  now,  talking  it  over !' 

"  'Ah !  It's  of  no  consequence  now,  of  course.  But  it's 
pleasant  to  talk  of  old  times  again.  And  I  feel  a  deal  easier 
now  that  I've  told  you.  It  used  to  worry  me  at  times,  espe- 
cially after  I  came  into  my  money,  and  took  a  house  there 
on  the  Dover  road.' 

"  'Very  odd  it  was,  to  be  sure !'  said  the  first  skeleton. 
'I  wonder  where  he  is  now.  I've  kept  a  good  look  out  for 
him,  but  I  haven't  come  across  him  yet.  I  rather  fancy  he's 
scattered  around  a  bit — a  leg  here  and  a  leg  there,  so  to 
speak.' 

"  'Perhaps  so.    I  shouldn't  wonder  at  it  at  all.    .    .     " 

"'But  what  the  thunder  did  you  kill  him  for?     He 


174  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

seemed  as  fine  a  young  gentleman  as  breathed,  if  I  remem- 
ber rightly — though,  to  be  sure,  he  was  a  little  haughty  in 
his  ways.' 

"  'A  little  too  haughty,  Adam,  to  please  me — just  a 
little  too  haughty,  Adam.  And  when  he  called  me  a  vile 
knave,  as  he  strode  out  of  your  inn,  I  disliked  it.  It  dis- 
pleased me.  He  had  cursed  you  for  a  swindling  varlet,  if 
you  remember,  because  you  had  tried  to  palm  off  some  of 
your  cheap  wine  on  him — I  never  could  stand  that  cheap 
wine  of  yours  myself,  Adam — and  you  answered  pretty 
hotly,  as  we  all  of  us  heard.  So  when  I  followed  him  out, 
after  seeing  you  leave  the  premises,  and  knowing  you  would 
be  away  a  full  hour,  I  knew,  too,  well  enough,  that  when  he 
was  found  there  would  be  some  that  would  call  to  mind  your 
words.  And  so  they  did.  ...  He  had  some  spirit,  I 
must  allow.  He  was  little  more  than  a  boy,  too,  and — 
would  you  believe  it, — was  going  off  to  join  his  bride. 
Damme !  the  young  rascal  had  made  a  clandestine  marriage, 
and  the  girl  was  expecting  him  that  night  at  Reading! 
.  .  .  He  passed  up  the  road  towards  the  old  turnpike. 
I  rather  fancy  he  must  have  mistaken  his  way.  What  should 
he  want  up  there  ?  .  .  .  However,  that  didn't  matter  to 
me.  Only  I  was  a  bit  afraid  that  he  would  turn  and  come 
back  again,  which  of  course,  would  have  made  it  devilish 
awkward.  However,  he  didn't.  He  kept  straight  on !  and 
when  he  had  passed  the  old  bridge — you  know  where  I 
mean,  next  to  the  pond  there — I  just  stepped  up  to  him,  and 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder.  Egad !  but  you  should  have 
seen  him  start.  You  see,  there  was  snow  on  the  ground, 
and  he  hadn't  heard  me  coming  behind  him.' 

"The  skeleton  paused,  its  jaws  opened  with  a  clicking 
noise,  and  a  kind  of  hollow  laughter  filled  the  room. 

"  'You  should  just  have  heard  him  when  I  told  him  to 
stand  and  defend  himself,'  it  continued.  'He  said  he  should 
never  recover  from  having  been  under  the  same  roof  with 
me,  and  swore  that  I  made  the  air  so  unwholesome  that  he 
felt  positively  faint.  As  for  fighting  with  me,  he  declared 
that  he  would  rather  die  where  he  stood,  in  spite  of  his  ap- 


NATHAN  BONE'S  SKELETONS  175 

pointment;  and  said  that  perhaps,  after  having  exchanged 
words  with  me,  it  would  be  the  best  thing  that  he  could  do. 
.  .  He  was  a  little  too  haughty,  Adam,  to  please  me ; 
just  a  little  too  haughty,  Adam.  And  so  .  .  .  But 
what  do  you  think  his  last  words  to  me  were,  as  he 
lay  there  at  the  side  of  the  road  ?  He  must  have  rolled  over 
into  the  ditch  after  I  left  him.  I  didn't  put  him  there,  al- 
though you  found  him  in  it.  Damme !  what  do  you  think  he 
said?' 

"  'Crank  it !    I  don't  know/  said  the  first  skeleton. 
"  'I'll  tell  you,'  began  the  other  in  a  horrible  whisper ; 
then  it  stopped  suddenly.     'First  of  all,'  it  said  uneasily, 
'Old  Bone  must  go  outside.     I  won't  tell  Old  Bone.' 
"  'Bone,'  said  the  first  skeleton,  'leave  the  room.' 
"The  antiquarian  got  up,  unlocked  the  door,  and  passed 
outside,  closing  the  door  behind  him.    He  stopped  and  lis- 
tened, of  course ;  but  not  a  word,  not  one  single  word,  did 
he  hear. 

"While  he  was  standing  there,  with  his  ear  to  the  key- 
hole, it  so  happened  that  his  niece  came  by.  Knowing  that 
there  could  be  nobody  in  the  room,  she  was  naturally  aston- 
ished to  see  him  listening  like  that.  But  the  antiquarian  took 
no  notice  of  her. 

"  'Whatever  are  you  doing  there,  uncle?'  she  exclaimed. 
"Old  Bone  raised  a  finger.     'Hush!'  he  whispered  ex- 
citedly.   'Not  a  word !' 

"  'What  is  the  matter  ?'  asked  the  girl,  still  more  sur- 
prised. 

"  'Not  a  word !'  whispered  Old  Bone. 
"Daisy  at  once  saw  that  a  great  change  had  come  over 
him,  and  I  need  hardly  say  that  she  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  was  at  last  quite  mad.  She  stopped  with  him,  how- 
ever, until  eventually,  not  hearing  any  sound,  he  grew  too 
impatient  to  wait  any  longer,  and  opened  the  door.  They 
entered  the  room  together,  and  then,  if  you  will  believe  me, 
they  saw  something  that  made  Bone  stagger." 

Castlebridge  paused,  and  glanced  at  the  face  of  each 
of  his  listeners. 


i76  THE  SHRINE  OF  yESCULAPIUS 

"Each  of  those  skeletons,"  he  said,  very  slowly,  "was 
back  in  its  proper  place ;  and  the  only  thing  that  was  left  to 
prove  that  he  had  not  dreamed  it  all  was  the  first  skeleton's 
arm,  which  had  dropped  onto  the  floor,  and  still  lay  there. 

"What  passed  between  the  antiquarian  and  his  niece  is 
not  known.  That  he  never  said  a  word  to  her  about  what  he 
had  seen  is  certain.  No  doubt  he  knew  that  she  would  not 
believe  it.  But  the  strange  thing  is  the  change  that  it  wrought 
in  him.  The  very  next  day  he  packed  his  skeletons  off  to 
London.  He  sent  for  Ralph  Thompson,  told  him  that  he 
would  have  to  marry  his  niece  at  once,  and  to  only  one  man 
did  he  ever  tell  what  he  had  seen  and  heard  that  night. 
That  man  was  the  parson  (who  told  it  to  me),  and  he  did 
not  believe  a  word  of  it.  What  is  more,  Bone  married  his 
housekeeper,  and  became  as  jolly  a  fellow  as  you  would  wish 
to  meet ;  took  to  hunting,  gave  parties,  went  to  all  the  dances 
round  about,  and,  in  short,  became  a  thoroughly  popular 
fellow;  and  everybody  said,"  concluded  Castlebridge,  "that 
now  he  was  mad  they  liked  him  a  great  deal  better  than 
when  he  was  sane." 


MISCELLANEOUS 


m 


M 


WHEN  DOCTORS  AGREED 

R.  TECUMSEH  CLAY  had  never  traveled  on  a 

railroad  pass,  though  he  had  often  wished  that  he 

might.    So  when  Dr.  Erasmus  Evans,  who  had  an 

annual  pass  on  the  A.,  B.,  and  C.  road,  offered 

to  let  Mr.  Clay  use  it,  the  offer  was  eagerly  accepted. 

"The  pass  is  non-transferable,"  said  Dr.  Evans,  "but 
that  won't  make  any  difference.  Just  pretend  you  are  me 
if  the  conductor  says  anything ;  but  he  won't." 

Mr.  Clay  took  the  night  train,  due  in  St.  Louis  the 
next  morning.  He  awaited  the  advent  of  the  train  con- 
ductor in  some  trepidation,  wondering  to  what  extent  he 
might  have  to  prevaricate  should  the  official  prove  to  be  of 
the  extra-inquisitive  type.  Mr.  Clay  didn't  like  to  lie,  and 
hoped  the  conductor  wouldn't  make  him.  At  the  same  time 
he  was  a  determined  man,  and  did  not  intend  that  a  fib  or 
two  should  stand  in  the  way  of  a  free  ride.  Besides,  the 
safety  of  the  doctor's  pass  might  be  imperiled  if  he  exhib- 
ited any  weakness  or  confusion  during  the  possible  cross- 
examination.  But  when  the  conductor  appeared  he  merely 
read  the  name  on  the  proffered  pass,  returned  it  to  Mr. 
Clay,  and  went  on,  leaving  Mr.  Clay  rejoicing.  Not  even 
the  littlest  arid  snowiest  of  fibs  had  he  had  to  utter.  So 
Mr.  Clay,  with  a  pleasant  consciousness  of  both  thrift  and 
rectitude,  settled  comfortably  back  on  the  cushions  in  his 
section  of  the  sleeper ;  and  presently,  having  let  the  choco- 
late-faced porter  make  up  his  berth,  he  crawled  in  to  such 
slumber  as  the  rushing  train  might  permit. 

About  midnight  he  was  aroused  by  a  voice  at  the  cur- 
tains of  his  berth.  "Doctor!"  it  said,  "Doctor!  wake  up! 
A  man  in  the  next  car  has  been  taken  sick,  and  needs  some- 
thing done." 

It  was  the  conductor,  who  had  noticed  that  the  name 
on  the  pass  carried  an  M.  D. 

179 


180  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

"All  right.  I'll  be  out  in  a  moment,"  answered  Mr. 
Clay,  with  a  promptitude  that  surprised  even  himself.  "The 
dickens!"  he  muttered,  when  the  conductor  had  departed. 
"Why  didn't  Evans  tell  me  that  doctors  are  called  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  on  sleeping-cars  just  the  same  as  any- 
where else?  I'd  have  let  him  keep  his  pass  and  paid  my 
fare  if  I'd  known.  There's  nothing  to  do,  though,  but  to 
go  and  see  the  man.  If  he's  really  sick  enough  to  need  a 
doctor  I'm  sorry  for  him." 

Mr.  Clay,  having  dressed  hastily,  made  his  way  into 
the  next  car,  and  was  conducted  to  the  patient.  With  com- 
mendable gravity  he  felt  of  the  man's  pulse,  placed  his  hand 
on  his  chest,  and  counted  the  respirations,  and  then  asked 
to  see  his  tongue.  This  done,  he  stood  for  a  moment  gazing 
contemplatively  upon  the  luckless  patient.  The  bystanders 
thought  he  was  pondering  deeply ;  he  was  really  wondering 
what  he  should  do  next.  Then — it  came  like  an  inspiration ; 
he  had  seen  Dr.  Evans  do  it  one  time — he  lifted  the  patient's 
hand  and  studied  his  fingernails  in  a  meditative  manner. 

"Have  you  some  whisky?"  he  asked,  turning  to  the 
conductor. 

"Yes,  sir ;  I  can  get  some,"  was  the  answer. 

"Very  good !  Give  him  two  teaspoonfuls  in  half  a 
glass  of  water,  and  repeat  the  dose  at  the  end  of  an  hour. 
I  haven't  my  medicine-case  with  me,  unfortunately,  and 
can't  prescribe  just  as  I'd  like  to.  But  the  whisky  will  act 
as  a—" 

What  sort  of  an  actor  the  whisky  would  prove  he  evi- 
dently regarded  as  of  no  great  importance  to  his  listeners, 
for  he  broke  off,  and  remarked  that  he  was  sorry  he  hadn't 
his  thermometer  with  him ;  he  would  like  to  take  the  pa- 
tient's temperature.  He  evidently  had  some  fever.  "But 
give  him  the  whisky  as  directed,"  he  concluded  with  brisk 
decisiveness,  "and  if  there  should  be  a  change  for  the  worse 
let  me  know." 

Back  in  the  privacy  of  his  berth  once  more,  Mr.  Clay 
smiled  broadly,  and  then  sighed  deeply.  "Poor  fellow," 
he  thought.    "I  hope  it's  nothing  serious." 


WHEN  DOCTORS  AGREED  181 

"Doctor!"  called  a  voice,  just  as  he  was  dozing  off. 
"The  man  seems  to  be  getting  worse.  I  guess  you'd  better 
take  another  look  at  him." 

"All  right,"  answered  Mr.  Clay  cheerfully,  but  groan- 
ing inwardly.  "I  wish,"  he  muttered,  "that  confounded  old 
pass  had  been  taken  up  and  cancelled  before  it  ever  fell 
into  my  hands !  What  the  deuce  am  I  to  do,  anyway?  The 
man  may  die  for  lack  of  a  little  medical  skill.  But  I  can't 
confess  that  I  am  no  doctor ;  I've  got  to  bluff  it  out." 

"There's  another  doctor  in  the  forward  car,  sir,"  said 
the  conductor  as  Mr.  Clay  appeared.  "The  patient's  friends 
are  getting  kind  o'  nervous,  and  thought  perhaps  you'd  like 
to  consult  with  him.     I'll  rout  him  out  if  you  think  best." 

"Very  well,  if  the  patient's  friends  desire  it,"  answered 
Mr.  Clay,  both  relieved  and  annoyed.  "That  doctor  will 
see  through  me  in  about  thirty  seconds,"  he  reflected  gloom- 
ily. "I  wonder  if  it  would  kill  a  man  to  jump  off  the  train ; 
it's  going  pretty  fast." 

But  Mr.  Clay  did  nothing  so  rash  as  that.  He  was 
gazing  calmly  at  the  patient  when  the  consulting  doctor 
arrived.  "This  is  Dr.  Evans,  Dr.  Brown,"  said  the  con- 
ductor, guiltless  of  intentional  falsehood.  The  two  profes- 
sional men  bowed  gravely  to  each  other.  Dr.  Brown  had 
brought  a  small  medicine-case  with  him,  which  he  set  down 
in  the  aisle.  "Well,  Dr.  Evans,  what  are  the  symptoms  ?"  he 
asked. 

"Just  take  a  look  at  him  and  see  what  you  think,  Dr. 
Brown,"  replied  Mr.  Clay,  with  admirable  self-possession. 

Dr.  Brown  drew  a  fever  thermometer  from  his  pocket, 
shook  the  fluid  down  with  a  quick  professional  jerk,  and 
inserted  the  end  under  the  patient's  tongue.  Then  he  felt 
his  pulse,  and  Mr.  Clay  noted  with  envy  that  he  did  not 
look  at  his  watch,  as  he  himself  had  done.  Mr.  Clay  re- 
called that  Dr.  Evans  seldom  looked  at  his  watch  while 
counting  a  patient's  pulse. 

"What  has  been  done  for  the  relief  of  the  patient,  Dr. 
Evans  ?"  asked  the  consulting  physician,  as  he  withdrew  the 
thermometer  and  silently  studied  the  temperature  registered. 


182  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

Mr.  Clay  told  him.  Doctors  had  disagreed  before,  and  they 
might  as  well  do  so  again,  reflected  the  unhappy  Clay.  Be- 
sides, there  was  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  tell  him. 

Dr.  Brown  made  no  comment  for  a  moment.  He 
seemed  to  be  considering  the  case  carefully.  Presently,  to 
Mr.  Clay's  relief  and  astonishment,  he  said :  "Well,  I  think 
you  did  the  right  thing.  I  should  advise  continuing  the 
treatment  through  the  night,  and  if  the  patient  hasn't  im- 
proved by  morning  we  can  decide  upon  further  treatment. 
His  temperature  is  not  alarming." 

So  back  to  his  berth,  conscious  that  Providence  was 
kinder  than  he  deserved,  went  Mr.  Clay.  If  his  views  as 
to  the  patient's  condition  were  hazy,  upon  one  subject  he 
held  a  definite  opinion ;  he  was  determined  never  again  to 
travel  upon  a  physician's  pass. 

The  next  morning  the  patient  was  reported  very  much 
better,  and  Mr.  Clay's  heart  overflowed  with  gratitude.  As 
he  left  the  train  he  met  Dr.  Brown.  They  passed  through 
the  station  together,  and  as  they  started  to  part  on  the 
street,  Mr.  Clay  said,  with  a  confidential  smile : 

"Between  you  and  me,  doctor,  I'm  not  a  physician  at 
all.  I  couldn't  tell  the  conductor  so,  though,  because  I'm 
traveling  on  a  physician's  pass." 

Dr.  Brown's  lips  twitched,  and  he  held  out  a  cordial 
hand.  "I  brought  along  this  medicine-case,"  he  said,  "just 
as  a  bit  of  a  bluff.  I'm  no  more  of  a  physician  than  you  are, 
but  I'm  traveling  on  Dr.  Brown's  pass." 

James  Raymond  Perry. 


THE  GHOST  OF  THE  DISSECTING  ROOM 

HE  demonstration  was  finished,  and  the  students 
trooped  down  the  stairs  that  led  from  the  dissect- 
ing room  to  separate  for  the  night.  We  felt  our- 
selves particularly  lucky  in  securing  so  beautiful  a 
cadaver  as  that  on  which  our  demonstrator  had  just  shown 
us  the  technique  of  ovariotomy.  The  muscles  were  remark- 
ably firm  and  large  for  a  woman,  the  adipose  tissue  was 
thin  and  easily  removed,  and  the  injecting  was  sans  reproche. 
We  stood  for  some  time  by  the  door,  discussing  and  criti- 
cizing the  operation  with  that  freedom  so  characteristic  of 
inexperienced  and  embryo  surgeons,  the  freedom  with  which 
a  dandy  yachtman  criticizes  the  management  of  a  man-of- 
war,  and  an  old  maid  the  bringing  up  of  children. 

A  student  from  his  stronghold  of  a  seat  in  the  amphi- 
theatre can  easily  pick  flaws  in  a  laparotomy  or  an  ampu- 
tation ;  but  note  that  same  student,  a  little  time  after  gradu- 
ating, with  the  knife  in  his  hand  and  his  first  suffering 
patient  at  his  mercy  on  the  table,  and  how  much,  think  you, 
would  he  give  for  the  aid  of  the  same  surgeon  he  so  recently 
anathematized?  All  his  first  month's  collections,  methinks, 
if  he  could  secure  him  for  such  an  unusually  small  fee. 

When  the  last  student  had  left,  I  remained  standing 
alone  at  the  door,  wishing  that  I  might  accompany  them 
and  be  as  free  as  they  to  walk  the  street,  or  search  the 
theatres  for  amusement.  But,  alas,  there  had  been  a  sudden 
stoppage  in  the  fountain-head  of  my  quarterly  remittances, 
and,  being  thrown  on  my  own  resources,  I  had  taken  the 
situation  of  ambulance  surgeon  to  the  hospital  in  connection 
with  the  college,  and  my  presence  was  constantly  required. 
I  knew  not  at  what  moment  the  telephone  might  summon 
our  assistance  in  behalf  of  some  poor  unfortunate,  a  victim 
of  a  railroad  accident,  electric  current,  saloon  brawl,  or  some 

183 


i84  THE  SHRINE  OF  .ESCULAPIUS 

other  death-dealing  agent  of  our  advanced  civilization.  So, 
feeling  rather  blue,  I  walked  into  the  surgery,  and  lighting 
my  pipe  sat  down  in  front  of  the  glowing  fire,  wishing  that 
the  monotony  of  existence  might  be  relieved  by  some  un- 
usual excitement.    It  was  nearer  than  I  knew. 

I  had  been  sitting  in  meditation  for  half  an  hour  or  so, 
when  the  telephone  bell  aroused  me  with  a  start  and  we 
were  summoned  to  get  a  man  who  had  fallen  under  a 
street-car.  "A  victim  to  rapid  transit,"  I  said  to  myself, 
as  I  rang  the  electric  bell  which  told  our  driver  to  harness 
the  ambulance  horse. 

Soon  we  were  plunging  along  the  dimly  lighted  streets, 
our  gong  ringing  furiously  and  clearing  the  way  for  us,  and 
followed  by  small  boys  and  dogs,  which,  like  the  tossing 
water  behind  a  steamer,  form  a  wake  to  ambulances  and 
fire  engines.  Arrived  at  the  scene  of  the  accident,  I  found 
that  the  patient  had  been  taken  home  in  a  carriage,  and 
that  our  long  run  through  the  mud  had  been  for  nothing. 
"So,"  thought  I,  "back  to  a  pipe  and  my  own  miserable 
company.  No  concourse  of  fellow-students  to  see  a  leg  set 
or  a  scalp  sewed  on,  some  of  whom  always  stay  to  talk  it 
over  with  me."  I  crawled  disconsolately  into  the  ambulance 
and,  stretching  out  on  the  bed  within,  fell  asleep. 

I  was  awakened  by  the  rolling  back  of  the  stable  doors, 
and  jumped  out  to  help  Malachi,  our  driver,  unharness  the 
horse.  Taking  my  lamp  in  my  hand,  I  started  through  the 
yard  for  the  hospital,  when  I  was  arrested  by  a  sound,  the 
direction  of  which  baffled  me  for  a  moment  and  which 
seemed  to  fill  the  air  about  me.  How  shall  I  describe  it? 
It  was  a  moan,  a  muffled  shriek  that  rose,  then  fell,  then 
rose  higher  and  slowly,  oh,  so  slowly,  died  away.  It  seemed 
to  freeze  the  blood  in  my  veins  and  I  shuddered  with  fear. 
"Surely,"  I  thought,  "it  comes  from  the  dissecting  room." 
I  glanced  up  the  stairs  leading  to  it,  and  grewsome  enough 
they  looked  in  the  weird,  half-light  of  the  moon  which  was 
struggling  through  a  bank  of  threatening  clouds.  For  an 
instant  horrid  fancies  filled  my  mind,  but  my  courage  gath- 
ering with  the  ceasing  of  that  awful  cry,  I  called  myself  a 


THE  GHOST  OF  THE  DISSECTING  ROOM  185 

superstitious  fool  and  coward.  "What  can  it  be,"  I  rea- 
soned, "but  some  dog  shut  in  and  unnoticed,  now  whining 
and  howling,  to  be  released?    I  will  go  and  let  him  out." 

Taking  the  key  from  my  pocket,  I  started  up  the  stairs. 
When  nearly  to  the  top  I  heard  that  cry  again.  At  first 
low  and  sorrowful,  its  intensity  increased  gradually  until  it 
became  like  nothing  human  or  animal  in  its  fiendish  horror. 
Wild  and  awful  it  rang  out  on  the  night  until  the  key 
dropped  from  my  nerveless  fingers  and  I  bounded  down 
the  stairs  resolved  to  summon  some  one  to  go  with  me. 
At  the  stable  door  my  courage  returned  (the  cry  had 
ceased),  and  thinking  of  the  boys'  chaff  on  the  morrow  I 
made  another  start. 

Trembling  I  crept  up  the  stairs,  and,  finding  the  key, 
turned  it  in  the  lock.  Never  to  my  dying  day  will  I  forget 
the  sight  that  met  my  eyes.  Bending  over  the  table  on 
which  lay  the  body  of  the  woman,  was  the  form  of  a  beau- 
tiful young  girl.  My  flickering  lantern  gave  but  little  light, 
and  yet  I  saw,  with  wonderful  intensity,  the  graceful  curves 
of  her  body,  the  arm,  round  and  white  as  a  baby's,  and  the 
face,  on  which  was  a  look  of  unutterable  agony.  A  strange 
pale  light  seemed  to  emanate  from  her,  casting  strange  and 
awful  shadows  on  the  bodies  near  her. 

While  I  stood,  rooted  with  horror  to  the  spot,  she 
raised  one  of  the  bloody  tresses  in  her  hand  and  with  the 
other  fondled  the  red  and  skinless  face  and  arms  of  the 
body.  "Mine !"  she  moaned  ;  "mine !  mine !"  And  then 
began  that  cry.  Heavens !  If  it  had  been  horrible  from  the 
stairs  outside,  imagine  its  tenfold  horror,  thus  near  and 
when  I  saw  its  source. 

A  gust  of  wind  slammed  the  door  shut  behind  me.  She 
heard,  and,  lifting  her  beautiful  face,  saw  me  standing  as 
stone  before  her.  One  reproachful  look,  one  stretching 
forth  of  the  white  hand  as  if  in  supplication,  and  she  van- 
ished! My  lantern  dropped  with  a  crash  and  went  out, 
and  I  was  left  alone  with  the  mangled  dead. 


N 


A  RIDE  WITH  DEATH 

IP  HUNTER  and  I  were  studying  medicine  in  the 
office  of  old  Dr.  Cross,  who  was  then  practising 
in  one  of  the  larger  towns  of  southern  Indiana. 
Like  all  medical  students,  we  were  anxious  to 
dissect.  Of  course  the  first  thing  was  to  provide  ourselves 
with  a  subject.  But  it  was  a  very  great  question  with  us 
how  we  were  to  do  that.  We  mentioned  our  longings  to 
the  old  doctor,  who  rewarded  our  confidence  by  laughingly 
placing  the  office  basement  at  our  disposal,  and  jokingly 
locating  a  real  fine  subject  that  had  just  been  planted  in  a 
graveyard  two  or  three  miles  from  town.  This  graveyard 
was  near  Nip's  home,  and  we  recognized  our  opportunity. 
The  office  janitor  was  an  old  colored  man  whom  everybody 
called  Dr.  Joe.  He  had  gained  his  title  and  worn  off  his 
natural  dread  of  spooks  while  acting  as  janitor  in  a  medical 
college  dissecting-room  in  Cincinnati  a  few  years  before. 
We  took  him  into  our  confidence  and  laid  our  plans.  The 
coming  night  all  three  of  us  were  to  walk  toward  Nip's 
home,  steal  shyly  into  the  graveyard,  take  up  the  body,  carry 
it  across  the  field  to  the  barn,  get  out  Nip's  horse  and  buggy 
and  convey  it  to  town  and  to  the  office.  While  we  were 
making  preparations  at  the  barn  the  colored  man  was  to 
hurry  back  and  prepare  the  office  for  us,  so  that  there  might 
be  no  delay.  The  office  was  on  the  main  street,  and  had  a 
side  door  which  opened  on  an  alley ;  and  as  the  back  end 
of  this  alley  had  just  been  ditched  preparatory  to  laying 
sewer  pipe,  our  only  chance  to  reach  the  office  was  by  the 
main  street.  We  had  a  bigger  job  than  we  had  expected 
and  time  had  hardly  entered  as  a  factor  into  our  calcula- 
tions. Daylight  had  overtaken  us  when  we  reached  the 
barn,  cold  and  covered  with  snow — for  it  had  been  snowing 
all  night.     We  hastily  decided  to  hide  our  prize  and  wait 

186 


A  RIDE  WITH  DEATH  187 

until  the  next  night  to  get  it  to  town.  But  just  as  we  were 
in  the  act  of  tucking  it  away  in  the  hay,  Nip's  father  ap- 
peared on  the  scene  and  with  righteous  indignation  threat- 
ened us  with  exposure  and  demanded  that  we  take  the  body 
away  at  once. 

We  quickly  decided  to  adopt  the  bold  expedient  of 
attiring  the  body  in  clothing  to  be  taken  by  Nip  from  his 
sister's  wardrobe  and  to  convey  it  to  town  in  a  sleigh.  We 
accordingly  dressed  it  up,  opened  wide  its  eyes,  put  a  veil 
over  its  face  and  sat  it  bolt  upright  in  the  sleigh  between  us. 
All  went  tinkling  as  a  marriage  bell  until  we  struck  the 
main  street.  It  was  the  first  sleighing  of  the  season  and 
every  one  was  making  the  most  of  it.  Suddenly  it  appeared 
to  me  that  we  had  become  the  objects  of  everybody's  atten- 
tion. A  feeling  of  horror  took  possession  of  me.  I  watched 
the  faces  of  the  passers-by  with  eagerness.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  the  look  of  joyousness  which  beamed  in  their  faces 
as  they  approached  us  changed  to  one  of  horror  as  they 
dashed  past.  I  dared  not  turn  my  head  to  follow  them, 
for  I  felt  that  they  were  watching  us  over  their  shoulders. 
Presently  the  veil  blew  off  the  face.  I  made  a  convulsive 
effort  to  grasp  it,  but  it  was  gone  with  the  wind.  My  terror 
increased.  It  seemed  to  me  now  that  the  corpse  was  at- 
tempting to  leap  from  the  sleigh.  "Is  it  all  imagination?" 
I  thought.  Then  I  looked  at  Nip  in  order  to  catch  some 
light  as  to  the  realities.  His  face  was  as  pale  as  death  and 
his  jaw  convulsively  set.  He  looked  straight  in  front,  turn- 
ing his  eyes  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left. 

"My  God,  Tom,"  he  hissed  through  his  teeth ;  "she's 
straightening  out.  Hold  her  down.  Ain't  her  eyes  shut?" 
and  he  grasped  a  tighter  rein  on  the  little  mare,  which, 
though  going  at  a  rapid  rate,  seemed  to  us  to  be  making  a 
snail's  pace  through  the  street.  "Ain't  her  eyes  shut?"  he 
hissed  again,  as  he  leaned  further  forward  as  if  to  assist 
the  mare  to  greater  speed. 

I  looked  into  the  face  of  the  corpse.  Its  eyes  were 
still  wide  open  and  staring.  "No,"  I  said,  "but  her  jaw 
has  fallen."     And  though  I  spoke  in  as  low  a  tone  as  I 


188  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

could  command,  I  thought  I  must  have  yelled.  "My  God!" 
he  hissed,  and  great  drops  of  perspiration  stood  out  on  his 
forehead.  The  people  on  the  sidewalk  stopped  and  gazed. 
"See  that  cop  at  the  corner?"  I  stammered.  Nip  instinc- 
tively threw  his  weight  upon  the  rein  and  the  mare  almost 
fell,  so  suddenly  did  she  stop.  The  policeman  passed  the 
corner.  "For  God's  sake  drive  on!"  I  said.  The  whip 
came  down  on  the  now  almost  terrified  little  mare,  and  with 
a  great  bound  and  with  a  jerk  that  threatened  to  make 
pieces  of  the  sleigh,  she  was  off  at  a  run.  "Pull  up,"  I  said, 
"we're  at  the  alley."  Nip  didn't  seem  to  hear  me,  but  the 
next  moment  the  little  mare  wheeled  from  the  street,  the 
sleigh  went  over,  Nip  went  into  the  snow  on  one  side  of  the 
alley  and  I  on  the  other. 

"That  woman's  killed,"  shouted  a  half-dozen  voices, 
as  a  crowd  gathered  in  the  opening  in  the  alley  behind  us. 
"You  mistaken  dar,  suh.  She  sum  hu't,  but  she  be  all  right 
in  a  sho't  time.  I  tuk  her  in  to  de  doctah.  He'll  fotch  her 
'roun'  all  right.  I'll  tend  to  de  hoss  now."  "Good  thing  I 
wuz  at  the  do,"  he  said  aside  to  me  as  I  brushed  the  snow 
from  my  clothes.  And  he  looked  Nip  and  me  over  with  a 
merry  twinkle  as  he  turned  the  sleigh  up.  You  may  rest 
assured  that  was  my  last  experience  in  that  line. 

W.  J.  Beck. 


MODERN  LEARNING  EXEMPLIFIED 

METAPHYSICS    (ABOUT    l800) 

Professor.     What  is  a  salt-box? 

Student.     It  is  a  box  made  to  contain  salt. 

P.     How  is  it  divided? 

5.     Into  a  salt-box,  and  a  box  of  salt. 

P.    Very  well.     Show  the  distinction. 

S.     A  salt-box  may  be  where  there  is  no  salt,  but  salt 
is  absolutely  necessary  to  the  existence  of  a  box  of  salt. 

P.    Are  not  salt-boxes  otherwise  divided? 

S.     Yes,  by  a  partition. 

P.     What  is  the  use  of  this  division  ? 

S.     To  separate  the  coarse  salt  from  the  fine. 

P.    How !    Think  a  little. 

S.    To  separate  the  fine  salt  from  the  coarse. 

P.  To  be  sure;  to  separate  the  fine  from  the  coarse. 
But  are  not  salt-boxes  otherwise  distinguished  ? 

5.     Yes ;  into  possible,  probable,  and  positive. 

P.     Define  these  several  sorts  of  salt-boxes. 

S.  A  possible  salt-box  is  a  salt-box  yet  unsold  in  the 
joiner's  hands. 

P.    Why  so? 

S.  Because  it  hath  not  yet  become  a  salt-box,  having 
never  had  any  salt  in  it,  and  it  may  possibly  be  applied  to 
some  other  use. 

P.  Very  true ;  for  a  salt-box  which  never  had,  hath  not 
now,  and  perhaps  never  may  have,  any  salt  in  it,  can  only 
be  termed  a  possible  salt-box.  What  is  a  probable  salt-box  ? 
5.  It  is  a  salt-box  in  the  hand  of  one  going  to  a  shop 
to  buy  salt,  and  who  hath  sixpence  in  his  pocket  to  pay  the 
shopkeeper.  And  a  positive  salt-box  is  one  which  hath  actu- 
ally and  bona  fide  got  salt  in  it. 

189 


igo  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

P.  Very  good.  What  other  divisions  of  salt-boxes  do 
you  recollect? 

S.  They  are  divided  into  substantive  and  pendent.  A 
substantive  salt-box  is  that  which  stands  by  itself  on  the  table 
or  dresser,  and  the  pendent  is  that  which  hangs  by  a  nail 
against  the  wall. 

P.     What  is  the  idea  of  a  salt-box? 

6".  It  is  that  image  which  the  mind  conceives  of  a  salt- 
box  when  no  salt  is  present. 

P.    What  is  the  abstract  idea  of  a  salt-box? 

5".  It  is  the  idea  of  a  salt-box  abstracted  from  the 
idea  of  a  box,  or  of  salt,  or  of  a  salt-box,  or  of  a  box  of  salt. 

P.  Very  right :  by  this  means  you  acquire  a  most  per- 
fect knowledge  of  a  salt-box ;  but  tell  me,  is  the  idea  of  a 
salt-box  a  salt  idea. 

S.  Not  unless  the  ideal  box  hath  the  idea  of  salt  con- 
tained in  it. 

P.  True :  and  therefore  an  abstract  idea  cannot  be 
either  salt  or  fresh,  round  or  square,  long  or  short ;  and  this 
shows  the  difference  between  a  salt  idea  and  an  idea  of  salt. 
Is  an  aptitude  to  hold  salt  an  essential  or  an  accidental  prop- 
erty of  a  salt-box  ? 

5.  It  is  essential;  but  if  there  should  be  a  crack  in  the 
bottom  of  the  box,  the  aptitude  to  spill  salt  would  be  termed 
an  accidental  property  of  that  salt-box. 

P.  Very  well,  very  well  indeed :  what  is  the  salt  called 
with  respect  to  the  box  ? 

S.     It  is  called  its  contents. 

P.     And  why  so? 

.S.  Because  the  cook  is  content,  quoad  hoc,  to  find 
plenty  of  salt  in  the  box. 

P.     You  are  very  right.    Let  us  now  proceed  to 

EOGIC 

P.    How  many  modes  are  there  in  a  salt-box? 

S.     Three :  bottom,  top,  and  sides. 

P.    How  many  modes  are  there  in  salt-boxes? 


MODERN  LEARNING  EXEMPLIFIED  igi 

S.  Four:  the  formal,  the  substantial,  the  accidental, 
and  the  topsy-turvy. 

P.    Define  these  several  modes. 

S.  The  formal  respects  the  figure  or  shape  of  the  box, 
such  as  round,  square,  oblong,  &c,  &c.  The  substantial 
respects  the  work  of  the  joiner ;  and  the  accidental  depends 
upon  the  string  by  which  the  box  is  hung  against  the  wall. 

P.  Very  well:  what  are  the  consequences  of  the  acci- 
dental mode? 

S.  If  the  string  should  break,  the  box  would  fall,  the 
salt  be  spilt,  the  salt-box  be  broken,  and  the  cook  in  a  pas- 
sion ;  and  this  is  the  accidental  mode,  with  its  consequences. 

P.  How  do  you  distinguish  between  the  top  and  bot- 
tom of  a  salt-box  ? 

•S".  The  top  of  a  box  is  that  part  which  is  uppermost, 
and  the  bottom  that  which  is  lowest  in  all  positions. 

P.  You  should  rather  say,  the  uppermost  part  is  the 
top,  and  the  lowest  part  the  bottom.  How  is  it  then  if  the 
bottom  should  be  the  uppermost? 

S.  The  top  would  then  be  lowermost,  so  that  the  bot- 
tom would  become  the  top,  and  the  top  would  become  the 
bottom;  and  this  is  called  the  topsy-turvy  mode,  which  is 
nearly  allied  to  the  accidental,  and  frequently  arises  from  it. 

P.  Very  good.  But  are  not  salt-boxes  sometimes  sin- 
gle, and  sometimes  double? 

S.     Yes. 

P.  Well  then,  mention  the  several  combinations  of  salt- 
boxes,  with  respect  to  their  having  salt  or  not. 

S.  They  are  divided  into  single  salt-boxes,  having  salt ; 
single  salt-boxes,  having  no  salt;  double  salt-boxes,  having 
no  salt;  double  salt-boxes,  having  salt;  and  single  double 
salt-boxes,  having  salt  and  no  salt. 

P.     Hold !  hold  ]  you  are  going  too  far. 

Governor  of  the  Institution.  We  can't  allow  further 
time  for  logic ;  proceed,  if  you  please,  to 

NATURAL  PHILOSOPHY 

P.    Pray,  sir,  what  is  a  salt-box? 


19a  THE  SHRINE  OF  iESCULAPIUS 

S.  It  is  a  combination  of  matter,  fitted,  framed,  and 
joined  by  the  hands  of  a  workman  in  the  form  of  a  box, 
and  adapted  to  the  purpose  of  receiving,  containing,  and  re- 
taining salt. 

P.  Very  good:  what  are  the  mechanical  powers  con- 
cerned in  the  construction  of  a  salt-box  ? 

S.     The  axe,  the  saw,  the  plane,  and  the  hammer. 

P.  How  are  these  powers  applied  to  the  purpose  in- 
tended ? 

S.    The  axe  to  fell  the  tree,  the  saw  to  split  the  timber. 

P.  Consider;  it  is  the  property  of  the  mall  and  wedge 
to  split. 

S.  The  saw  to  slit  the  timber,  the  plane  to  smooth  and 
thin  the  boards. 

P.     How  ?    Take  time,  take  time. 

S.     To  thin  and  smooth  the  boards. 

P.  To  be  sure;  the  boards  are  first  thinned  and  then 
smoothed.    Go  on. 

S.  The  plant  to  thin  and  smooth,  and  the  hammer  to 
drive  the  nails. 

P.  Or  rather  tacks.  Have  not  some  philosophers  con- 
sidered glue  as  one  of  the  mechanical  powers? 

S.  Yes ;  and  it  is  still  so  considered ;  but  it  is  called  an 
inverse  mechanical  power ;  because,  while  it  is  the  property 
of  the  direct  mechanical  powers  to  generate  motion;  glue, 
on  the  contrary,  prevents  motion  by  keeping  the  parts  to 
which  it  is  applied  fixed  to  each  other. 

P.     Very  true :  what  is  the  mechanical  law  of  the  saw  ? 

5".  The  power  is  to  resistance  as  the  number  of  teeth 
and  force  impressed,  multiplied  by  the  number  of  strokes 
in  a  given  time. 

P.     Is  the  saw  only  used  in  slitting  timber  into  boards  ? 

5".  Yes:  it  is  also  employed  in  cutting  timber  into 
lengths. 

P.  No  lengths.  A  thing  cannot  be  said  to  have  been 
cut  into  lengths. 

5".    Into  shortnesses. 


MODERN  LEARNING  EXEMPLIFIED  193 

P.  Very  right:  what  are  the  mechanical  laws  of  the 
hammer  ? 

Governor.  We  have  just  received  intelligence  that 
dinner  is  nearly  ready ;  and  as  the  medical  class  is  yet  to  be 
examined,  let  the  medical  gentlemen  therefore  come  for- 
ward. 

ANATOMY 

P.    What  is  a  salt-box? 

S.  It  is  a  body  composed  of  wood,  glue,  nails,  and 
hinges. 

P.    How  is  this  body  divided? 

S.     Into  external  and  internal. 

P.  Very  good:  external  and  internal;  very  proper; 
and  what  are  the  external  parts  of  a  salt-box? 

«S\  One  fundamental,  four  laterals,  and  one  super- 
lateral. 

P.  And  how  do  you  find  the  internal  parts  of  a  salt- 
box? 

S.  Divided  by  a  vertical  membrane  or  partition  into 
two  large  cavities  or  sinuses. 

P.     Are  these  cavities  always  equal? 

6\  They  used  to  be  so  formerly;  but  modern  joiners 
have  found  it  best  to  have  them  unequal,  for  the  more  con- 
venient accommodation  of  the  viscera,  or  contents:  the 
larger  cavity  for  the  reception  of  the  coarser  viscera,  and 
the  smaller  for  the  fine. 

P.  Very  true,  sir;  thus  have  modern  joiners,  by 
their  improvements,  excelled  the  first  makers  of  salt-boxes. 
Tell  me  now,  what  peculiarity  do  you  observe  in  the  super- 
lateral  member  of  the  salt-box  ? 

S.  Whereas  all  the  other  members  are  fixed  and  sta- 
tionary, with  respect  to  each  other,  the  superlateral  is  move- 
able on  a  pair  of  hinges. 

P.     To  what  purpose  is  it  so  constructed? 

5".  For  the  admission,  retention,  and  emission  of  the 
saline  particles. 

Governor.    This  is  sufficient.  Let  us  proceed  to 


194  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

SURGERY,  AND  THE  PRACTISE  OF  PHYSIC 

P.  Mention  a  few  of  the  disorders  to  which  a  salt- 
box  is  liable. 

5.  A  cracked  and  leaky  fundamental;  gaping  of  the 
joints  in  the  lateral ;  laxation  of  the  hinges ;  and  an  acces- 
sion and  concretion  of  filth  and  foulness,  external  and  in- 
ternal. 

P.  Very  well.  How  would  you  treat  these  disorders? 
Begin  with  the  first. 

S.  I  would  calk  the  leaky  fundamental  with  pledgets 
of  tow,  which  I  would  secure  in  the  fissure  by  a  strip  of 
linen  or  paper  pasted  over.  For  the  starting  lateral  joints, 
I  would  administer  powerful  astringents,  such  as  the  gluten 
comuosa,  and  would  bind  the  parts  together  by  triple  band- 
ages, until  the  joints  should  knit. 

P.     Would  you  not  assist  with  chalybeates? 

5".  I  would  attack  the  disease  with  prepared  iron,  in 
doses  proportioned  to  the  strength  of  the  parts. 

P.     How  would  you  manage  the  laxation  of  the  hinges  ? 

5".  I  would  first  examine  whether  it  was  occasioned  by 
the  starting  of  the  points  which  annex  the  processes  to  the 
superlateral  or  its  antagonist;  or  by  a  loss  of  the  fulcrum; 
or  by  an  absolute  fracture  of  the  sutures.  In  the  first  case, 
I  would  secure  the  process  by  a  screw ;  in  the  second,  I 
would  bring  the  sutures  together,  and  introduce  the  fulcrum  ; 
and  in  the  last,  I  would  entirely  remove  the  fractured  hinge, 
and  supply  its  place,  pro  tempore,  with  one  of  leather. 

P.  Very  well,  sir;  very  well.  Now  for  your  treat- 
ment in  case  of  accumulated  foulnesses,  external  and  inter- 
nal.   But  first  tell  me  how  this  foulness  is  contracted. 

S.  Externally,  by  the  greasy  hands  of  the  cook ;  and 
internally,  by  the  solutions  and  adhesion  of  the  saline  parti- 
cles. 

P.     Very  true;  and  now  for  the  cure. 

5*.  I  would  first  evacuate  the  abominable  vessel, 
through  the  prima  vice.  I  would  then  exhibit  detergents  and 
diluents ;  such  as  the  saponaceous  preparation,  with  plenty 
of  aqua  fontana. 


MODERN  LEARNING  EXEMPLIFIED  195 

P.     Would  not  aqua  ccelestis  answer  better? 

5".  Yes ;  plenty  of  aqua  ccelestis  with  the  marine  sand. 
I  would  also  apply  the  friction  brush,  with  a  brisk  and  strong 
hand,  until  the  excrementitious  concrete  should  be  totally 
dissolved  and  removed. 

P.    Very  proper.    What  next? 

S.  I  would  use  the  cold  bath  by  means  of  a  common 
pump.  I  would  then  apply  lintal  absorbents;  and,  finally, 
exsiccate  the  body  by  exposition,  either  in  the  sun,  or  before 
the  culinary  or  kitchen  fire. 

P.  In  what  situation  would  you  leave  the  superlateral 
valve  during  the  exsiccating  operation? 

5".  I  would  leave  it  open  to  the  extent,  in  order  that 
the  rarefied  humidities  might  escape  from  the  abdominal 
cavities  or  sinuses. 

CHEMISTRY 

P.  You  have  mentioned  the  saponaceous  preparation: 
how  is  that  procured? 

S.  By  the  action  of  a  vegetable  alkaline  salt  upon  a 
pinguidinous  or  unctuous  substance. 

P.    What  is  salt? 

S,  It  is  a  substance  sui  generis,  pungent  to  the  taste, 
of  an  antiseptic  quality;  and  is  produced  by  crystallization, 
or  the  evaporation  of  the  fluid  in  which  it.  is  suspended. 

P.     How  many  kinds  of  salt  occur  in  a  salt-box? 

S.     Two :  coarse  and  fine. 

P.  You  have  said  that  the  saponaceous  preparation  is 
procured  by  the  action  of  an  alkaline  salt  upon  a  pinguidin- 
ous or  unctuous  substance.    Describe  the  process. 

5".  If  a  great  quantity  of  strong  lye  be  procured  by 
passing  water  through  the  wood-ashes,  and  if  a  very  large 
body  of  a  pinguidinous  habit  should  be  immersed  in  this 
lye,  and  exposed  to  a  considerable  heat,  the  action  of  the 
lye,  or  rather  of  the  salts  with  which  it  abounds,  upon  the 
pinguidinous  body,  would  cause  the  mixture  to  coagulate 
into  soap. 

Notice  was  given  at  this  instant  that  dinner  was  on  the 


I96  THE  SHRINE  OF  .ESCULAPIUS 

table;  the  examination  was  concluded,  and  the  parties  sep- 
arated; the  examiners  rejoicing  in  the  anticipation  of  a  feast, 
and  the  examined  happy  in  finding  the  fiery  trial  over. 


A  CURIOSITY  IN  MEDICAL  ADVERTISING 
LITERATURE 

ELDOM  do  we  see  an  advertisement  by  a  regular 
practitioner;  but  those  of  quack  doctors  are  plen- 
tiful enough.  We  therefore  think  the  following 
exception  to  the  rule  is  worthy,  for  its  rareness. 
Merely  altering  the  names,  and  omitting  certain  details 
which  are  unfit  for  any  but  a  medical  publication,  we  copy 
it  verbatim  from  a  country  print: 

Mr.  Newleaf,  Member  of  the  Royal  College  of  Sur- 
geons, and  Licentiate  of  Apothecaries'  Hall,  London,  re- 
spectfully informs  his  patients  that  he  may  now  always 
be  found  at  home  sober.  He  has  studied  Physic  for  25  years, 
7  years  of  which  were  spent  with  his  father,  who  was  in 
extensive  practise  for  half  a  century,  and  who  was  particu- 
larly distinguished  for  his  knowledge  of  and  successful 
treatment  of  all  kinds  of  diseases  under  the  old  system. 
Mr.  Newleaf  afterwards  studied  under  the  first  surgeons 
in  London,  and  was  House  Pupil  with  S  *  *  *,  Esq.,  who 
performed  the  operation  of  *  *  *,  which  had  invariably 
terminated  fatally  in  the  hands  of  other  eminent  surgeons ; 
he  was  also  a  pupil  at  St.  George's  Hospital,  which  beds  500 
in-patients ;  besides  having  thousands  of  outdoor  patients ; 
he  resided  next  door  to  this  Hospital,  and  therefore  had  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  all  accidental  and  many  other  cases 
before  the  arrival  of  the  surgeons. 

Mr.  Newleaf  has  also  been  in  actual  practise  15  years 
in  Blanktown,  during  which  period  he  has  become  fully 
acquainted  with  the  diseases  which  prevail  in  this  locality, 
and  has  attended  upwards  of  300  cases  of  Midwifery. 

Mr.  Newleaf  has  the  greatest  abhorrence  of  quackery ; 
but  in  justice  to  himself,  wishes  to  intimate  that,  having 
been  frequently  intoxicated,  many  of  his  former  patients 

197 


198  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

forsook  him,  and  many  reports  have  been  circulated  much 
to  his  prejudice ;  among  others  that  "he  was  always  drunk, 
and  had  given  up  following  his  Profession."  Having  just 
purchased  a  first-rate  horse  and  vehicle,  he  can  now  attend 
patients  who  reside  at  a  distance  from  Blanktown. 

His  charges  are — in  consultation : — under  4  miles,  Half 
a  Guinea ;  above  4  miles  and  under  8,  One  Guinea ;  above  8 
miles  and  under  20,  Two  Guineas ;  and  above  20  miles  and 
under  30,  Three  Guineas : — when  in  daily  attendance  upon 
patients,  fi.is.  per  week  under  1  mile,  if  seen  once  a  day; 
twice  a  day,  i2.2s. ;  if  above  1  mile,  is.  per  mile  extra. 

Mr.  N.  is  disgusted  with  the  present  mode  of  paying 
medical  men,  judging  of  the  bill  by  the  quantity  of  medicine 
taken.  His  plan  is  to  give  as  little  physic  as  possible,  he 
only  wishing  to  be  paid  for  his  skill  and  attendance. 

Mr.  Newleaf  will  be  happy  at  all  times  to  meet  any 
other  legally-qualified  Practitioner,  and  give  up  the  patient 
to  him. 

Whatever  else  be  thought  of  it,  there  is  certainly  an 
honesty  about  this  announcement  which  contrasts  very  favor- 
ably with  most  medical  advertisements.  With  no  great 
stretch  of  fancy  we  can  conceive  the  possibility  of  a  quack 
doctor's  getting  drunk ;  but  to  imagine  a  quack  doctor  would 
advertise  the  fact  is  too  improbable  a  thought  for  our  con- 
ception to  give  birth  to.  The  rule  in  vino  Veritas  would  not 
apply  in  that  case,  for  no  amount  of  drinking  would  ever 
make  a  quack  so  far  forget  his  nature  as  to  speak  the  truth. 
Mr.  Newleaf,  therefore,  need  not  have  feared  that  his  ad- 
vertisement might  be  mistaken  for  a  quack's ;  although  we 
know  it  is  thought  quackish  for  a  medical  man  to  advertise, 
even  when  he  does  so  "in  justice  to  himself." 

The  soberness  of  statement  with  which  Mr.  Newleaf 
owns  his  last  intemperance,  and  intimates  that  he  has  now 
turned  over  a  new  leaf,  is  in  better  taste,  we  think,  than 
other  parts  of  his  advertisement,  which,  to  our  mind,  smack 
too  much  of  the  nature  of  mere  puffs.  When  he  speaks  in 
such  high  terms  of  his  relatives  and  antecedents,  we  are 


A  CURIOSITY  IN  MEDICAL  ADVERTISING  199 

apt  to  call  to  mind  the  theatrical  phenomenon,  who  couldn't 
act  himself,  but  knew  a  gentleman  who  could;  and  when 
he  adds  to  his  assertion  that  he  "does  not  follow  his  pro- 
fession," the  remark  that  he  has  "purchased  a  first-rate 
horse  and  vehicle,"  we  feel  tempted  to  conjecture  that  his 
practise  ran  so  fast  away  from  him,  that  he  needed  some- 
thing "first-rate"  in  the  equine  way  to  follow  it. 

Mr.  N.'s  disgust  at  the  mode  of  paying  doctors,  ac- 
cording to  the  quantity  of  medicine  they  send  into  one,  we 
do  not  mind  confessing  that  we  cordially  share.  We,  how- 
ever, think  the  system  is  with  more  truth  to  be  described 
as  of  old-time  than  of  present.  Punch  knocked  it  on  the 
head  some  dozen  volumes  since,  and  all  sensible  practitioners 
have  taken  his  advice,  and  now  charge  by  the  sickness  in- 
stead of  by  the  dose.  In  lieu  of  those  interminable  "mix- 
tures," "draughts,"  and  "pills,"  Punch  decreed  that  doctors' 
bills  should  consist  of  single  items,  as 

To  curing  you  of  cold £.       s.       d. 

To  cleaning  out  your  liver. ...       £.       s.       d. 
To  extracting  pain  from  toe . .       £       s.       d. 

and  in  brevity  the  like.  Least  taken,  soonest  mended,  Punch 
has  found  to  be  the  rule ;  and  so,  when  deluged  with  black 
doses  he  "threw  physic  to  the  dogs,"  and  told  his  doctor 
he  must  look  to  Toby  as  his  patient.  It  was  bad  enough, 
Punch  found,  to  bear  the  cost  of  over-dosing,  without  hav- 
ing to  gulp  down  the  nasty  stuff  made  for  him. 

Punch. 


THE  MEDICAL  STUDENT 


201 


THE  MEDICAL  STUDENT 

The  great  medical  school  is,  after  all,  the  school  which 
can  take  the  raw  country  lad  and  put  such  a  front  on  him 
that  nobody  will  ever  think  of  calling  him  "Doc." 


THE  AMBULANCE 

A  hush  in  the  roar  of  the  busy  street ; 
A  pause  in  the  surge  of  the  hurrying  feet; 
A  galloping  horse — four  whirring  wheels — 
A  tremor  of  haste  that  the  whole  earth  feels — 
The  ambulance  comes !    Quick — let  it  pass ! 

Claiming  its  course  with  clang  of  gong, 
Forcing  a  way  through  the  surging  throng — 
That  cross  of  red  is  its  right  of  way, 
Let  man  nor  beast  its  speed  delay, 
Open  a  way  and  let  it  pass ! 

Only  an  episode — one  of  a  score — 
Lost  in  the  din  and  the  rattle  and  roar ; 
A  moment's  pause  in  the  scurrying  throng, 
And  the  querulous  twang  of  a  clamoring  gong. 
Out  of  the  road !    Make  way,  make  way ! 

Only  a  question  of  life  and  death, 
Read  in  the  flow  of  the  failing  breath. 
Only  a  life — such  a  trivial  thing — 
Only  a  trellis  where  fond  hopes  cling, 

Here  is  the  ambulance!    Quick,  make  way! 

A  trivial  episode — yes,  I  know! 
But  the  loveliest  thing  wherever  you  go 
Is  a  touch  of  humanity,  tender  and  true, 
With  a  glimpse  of  man's   brotherhood   showing  through, 
So  out  of  the  way,  and  let  it  pass ! 

203 


204  THE  SHRINE  OF  iESCULAPIUS 

INVERTED  FABLES 

IN  THE  LAND  OF  THE  OUGHT-TO-BE 

"I  cannot  begin  to  tell  you,"  said  the  patient  to  the 
doctor,  with  an  anticipatory  gleam  of  enthusiasm  in  his  off 
eye,  "how  much  pleased  I  am  to  think  that  you  have  called 
on  me  at  this  opportune  moment.  Unless  I  operate  on  you 
in  an  hour,  I  will  not  answer  for  the  consequences." 

"But,"  said  the  doctor,  "there  is  nothing  the  matter 
with  me.    I  am  a  physician.     Besides,  I  came  to  see  you." 

"You  think  you  did,"  said  the  patient,  "but  in  the  in- 
terest of  science  and  my  own  pocketbook,  I  am  going  to  do 
the  wrong  thing  by  you,  even  if  you  never  recover,  and  I 
have  to  explain  to  your  family  that  if  your  blood  hadn't 
been  in  such  a  condition  through  dissipation,  it  might  have 
been  otherwise." 

"But,"  said  the  doctor,  "this  is  nothing  short  of  murder. 
Besides,  I'd  rather  take  my  chances — " 

"Shut  up !"  said  the  patient,  producing  a  yellow  bottle 
of  carbolic  acid,  a  quart  bottle  of  ether,  and  a  black  bag 
of  instruments.  "I  say  you  have  appendicitis,  and  there  is 
no  time  to  lose.  Do  as  I  tell  you,  and  step  up  on  this  fold- 
ing table,  or  I'll  order  a  consultation  of  laymen  over  you, 
and  then  you'll  wish  you  had  been  good." 

Moral 

"How  much  is  it?"  said  the  doctor,  after  it  was  all  over. 
"How  much  have  you  got  ?"  asked  the  patient. 


NO  DOUBT  OF  IT 

Professor  (to  class  in  surgery)  :  The  right  leg  of  the 
patient,  as  you  see,  is  shorter  than  the  left,  and  in  conse- 
quence of  which  he  limps.  Now,  what  would  you  do  in  a 
case  of  this  kind  ? 

Bright  Student :    Limp,  too. 


THE  MEDICAL  STUDENT  205 

A  MATTER  OF  EXPENSE 

"Doctor,  what  is  the  matter  with  me?" 

"You  need  about  three  months'  rest  from  business— 

that  is  all." 

"Three  months'  rest?  That  will  cost  me  five  thousand 
dollars.  The  other  doctor  said  I  needed  an  operation  for 
appendicitis.  That  would  cost  only  one  hundred  dollars. 
I  think  I'll  let  him  operate." 


HITCHCOCK'S  TACTFUL  FRIEND 

Raymond  Hitchcock  says  that  while  he  was  lying  in  a 
Philadelphia  hospital,  convalescing  from  an  operation  for 
appendicitis,  one  of  those  fool  friends,  who  always  say  the 
wrong  thing  in  the  wrong  place,  called  on  him  and  told 
him  the  following  story  to  cheer  him  up : 

Philadelphia's  most  famous  appendicitis  expert  has  a 
dog  of  which  he  thinks  a  great  deal,  which  had  a  lopsided 
walk.    A  friend  asked  the  doctor  on  one  occasion  the  cause 

of  this. 

"Why,"  was  the  reply,  "he's  got  appendicitis." 

"Then  why  don't  you  operate  on  him?"  queried  the 

caller. 

"What,  operate  on  that  dog!    Why,  that  dogs  worth 

a  hundred  dollars." 


SAVES  SOMETHING 

The  boldness,  but  not  the  success  of  modern  surgery  is 
exemplified  in  the  following  dialogue,  which  can  be  found 
in  a  little  book  of  jokes  on  the  doctors:  "What  is  on  that 
plate?  That  is  a  tumor ;  it  is  a  very  large  tumor ;  it  weighs 
112  pounds;  the  patient  weighed  88  pounds.  Was  the 
tumor  removed  from  the  patient?  No;  the  patient  was 
removed  from  the  tumor.  Did  you  save  the  patient  ?^  No, 
we  did  not  save  the  patient,  but  we  saved  the  tumor. 


206  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

ILL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  PRESENT 

"Going  to  operate  on  me  now,  doctor  ?" 
"No.    If  you  manage  to  pull  through,  we  won't  oper- 
ate on  you  until  you  are  perfectly  well  again." 


CONCERNING  CORPUSCLES 

I  like  to  know  my  blood  contains 

Red  corpuscles  industrious, 
Who  guard  my  arteries  and  veins 

With  valor  most  illustrious. 

Invading  microbes  every  day 
Attack  these  gallant  corpuscles, 

Who  send  the  villains  on  their  way — 
Fit  candidates  for  hospitals. 

I  trust  they  will  not  wish  to  roam, 

These  warriors  corpuscular ; 
I  hope  to  make  them  feel  at  home : — 

They  make  me  feel  so  muscular. 

F.  S.  Bailey. 


MANY  OPERATIONS 

Sir  Astley  Cooper,  on  visiting  the  French  capital,  was 
asked  by  the  chief  surgeon  of  the  empire  how  many  times 
he  had  performed  some  wonderful  feat  of  surgery.  He 
replied  that  he  had  performed  the  operation  thirteen  times. 
"Ah,  monsieur,  I  have  done  him  one  hundred  and  sixty 
times.  How  many  times  did  you  save  his  life?"  continued 
the  curious  Frenchman,  after  he  looked  into  the  blank 
amazement  of  Sir  Astley 's  face.  "I,"  said  the  Englishman, 
"saved  eleven  out  of  thirteen.  How  many  did  you  save  out 
of  a  hundred  and  sixty?"  "Ah,  monsieur,  I  lose  dem  all; 
but  the  operation  was  very  brillante !" 


THE  MEDICAL  STUDENT  207 

HOW  HOPKINS  WAS  SOOTHED 

A  Portland  physician  tells  the  following  story,  premis- 
ing it  with  the  remark  that  nurses  in  the  London  hospitals 
are  rather  apt  to  lay  too  much  stress  on  the  advantages 
received  by  the  patients  and  to  remind  them  of  the  duty  of 
thankfulness.  Sometimes  the  patients  do  not  appreciate 
their  good  fortune.  This  scene  from  a  London  hospital, 
related  by  the  physician  above  indicated,  is  a  case  in  point : 

Chaplain :  "So  poor  Hopkins  is  dead !  I  should  have 
liked  to  speak  to  him  once  again  and  sooth  his  last  moments. 
Why  didn't  you  call  me?" 

Hospital  Orderly:  "I  didn't  think  you  ought  to  be 
disturbed  for  'Opkins,  sir,  so  I  just  soothed  him  as  best  I 
could  myself." 

Chaplain :    "Why,  what  did  you  say  to  him  ?" 

Orderly :    "  '  'Opkins,'  sez  I,  'you're  mortal  bad.' 

"  'I  am,'  sez  'e. 

" '  'Opkins,'  sez  I,  'I  don't  think  you'll  get  better.' 

"  'No,'  sez  'e. 

" '  'Opkins,'  sez  I,  'you're  goin'  fast.' 

"  'Yes,'  sez  'e. 

" '  'Opkins,'  sez  I,  'I  don't  think  you  can  'ope  to  go  to 
'eaven.' 

"  'I  don't  think  I  can,'  sez  'e. 

"  'Well,  then,  'Opkins,'  sez  I,  'you  will  go  to  'ell.' 

"  'I  suppose  so,'  sez  'e. 

" '  'Opkins,'  sez  I,  'you  ought  to  be  wery  grateful  as 
there's  a  place  perwided  for  you,  and  that  you've  got  some- 
where to  go.'  And  I  think  'e  'eard  me,  sir,  and  then  'e 
died." 


WHY  ONE  STILL  LIVED 

"How  many  deaths?"  asked  the  hospital  physician, 
while  going  his  rounds.  "Nine."  "Why,  I  ordered  medi- 
cine for  ten."    "Yes,  but  one  wouldn't  take  it." 


208  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

THE  EVERLASTING  CONTROVERSY 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor,  who  is  slender,  to  the  profes- 
sor, who  is  rotund,  "I  see  you  are  well  enough  to  be  'round." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  professor.  "You  can  also  see,  I 
suppose,  that  I  am  considerably  further  'round  than  you 
are." 

"Well,  you  are  getting  square  with  me,  anyhow." 

"What  is  your  girth?" 

"Thirty-eight." 

"Pshaw !"  rejoined  the  professor.  "It  is  30  years  since 
I  was  40." 

At  the  hour  of  going  to  press  the  doctor  was  still  try- 
ing to  dig  hidden  meaning  out  of  that  rejoinder. 


RETURNED  THE  FEES 

On  one  occasion  Professor  X —  was  called  in  consul- 
tation with  Dr.  Gregory,  about  a  patient  of  his  who  hap- 
pened to  be  a  student  of  medicine.  The  day  before,  how- 
ever, Dr.  Gregory  was  called  alone,  and  on  going  away 
was  offered  the  customary  guinea.  This  the  stately 
physician  firmly  refused ;  he  never  took  fees  from  students. 
The  student  replied  that  Professor  X —  did.  Immediately 
Gregory's  face  brightened  up.  "I  will  be  here  to-morrow 
in  consultation  with  him.  Be  good  enough  to  offer  me  a 
fee  before  him,  sir."  To-morrow  came,  and  the  student  did 
as  he  had  been  requested.  "What  is  that,  sir?"  the  doctor 
answered,  looking  at  his  proffered  guinea;  "a  fee,  sir? 
What  do  you  take  us  to  be — cannibals  ?  Do  we  live  on  one 
another?  No,  sir.  The  man  who  could  take  a  fee  from  a 
student  of  his  own  profession  ought  to  be  kicked — kicked, 
sir,  out  of  the  faculty!  Good  morning!"  And  with  that 
the  celebrated  physician  walked  to  the  door,  in  well-affected 
displeasure.  Next  day,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  patient, 
Professor  X —  sent  a  packet  with  all  the  fees  returned. 


THE  MEDICAL  STUDENT  209 

DYING  BY  INCHES 

"Will  the  carpenter  live?"  asked  the  House  Surgeon. 

"Hardly — but  he  is  breathing  in  measured  breaths." 

"Ah,  the  ruling  spirit  strong  in  death,"  said  the  House 
Surgeon. 

Had  he  been  a  Civil  Engineer  the  remark  would  have 
been  quite  as  apropos. 


NEW  BOOKS  NOT  NEEDED 

A  medical  student  at  Bowdoin  College  once  asked  Pro- 
fessor Cleaveland  of  that  institution  if  there  were  not  some 
works  on  anatomy  more  recent  than  those  in  the  college 
library.  "Young  man,"  said  the  professor,  measuring  the 
entire  youthful  scholar  at  a  glance,  "there  have  been  very 
few  new  bones  added  to  the  human  body  during  the  last 
ten  years." 


SURGICAL  WIT 


As  good  an  instance  of  surgical  wit  as  can  be  found  is 
still  told  about  the  staff  of  the  Roosevelt  Hospital.  A 
dangerous  operation  was  being  performed  upon  a  woman. 
Old  Dr.  A.,  a  quaint  German,  full  of  kindly  wit  and  profes- 
sional enthusiasm,  had  several  younger  doctors  with  him. 
One  of  them  was  administering  the  ether.  He  became  so 
interested  in  the  old  doctor's  work  that  he  withdrew  the  cone 
from  the  patient's  nostrils,  and  she  half  roused  and  rose 
to  a  sitting  posture,  looking  with  wild-eyed  amazement  over 
the  surroundings.  It  was  a  critical  period,  and  Dr.  A.  did 
not  want  to  be  interrupted.  "Lay  down  dere,  voman,"  he 
commanded  gruffly.  "You  haf  more  curiosity  as  a  medical 
student."    She  lay  down,  and  the  operation  went  on. 


2iO  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

DIDN'T  KNOW  THE  PLACE 

A  young  man  who  had  left  his  native  city  to  study  med- 
icine in  Paris,  and  had  been  applying  his  time  and  paternal 
remittances  to  very  different  purposes,  received  a  visit  from 
his  father,  who  intended  making  a  short  stay  in  the  capital 
to  inspect  its  wonders.  During  an  afternoon  stroll  together, 
the  day  after  the  elder's  arrival,  the  father  and  son  happened 
to  pass  in  front  of  a  colonnaded  building.  "What  is  that  ?" 
said  the  senior,  carelessly.  "I  don't  know,  but  we'll  inquire," 
answered  the  student.  On  the  query  being  put  to  an  of- 
ficial, he  shortly  replied :  "That?  It  is  the  School  of  Med- 
icine." 


THE  FEMALE  PHYSICIAN 

A  young  lady  graduate  of  a  Western  medical  college, 
when  asked  by  her  father  what  he  should  get  her  for  a 
birthday  present,  caused  that  gentleman  to  turn  pale  by 
exclaiming:  "Oh,  my  darling  pa!  If  you  would  only  go 
to  the  hospital  and  buy  me  the  head  and  arm  of  a  man  I 
should  be  the  happiest  girl  in  the  world.  I  could  dissect 
them  on  the  kitchen  table,  you  see." 


AT  THE  HOSPITAL 

A  young  physician,  proud  of  his  three-days'-old  di- 
plomas, was  gleefully  telling  a  physician  of  many  years'  ex- 
perience of  his  luck  in  being  appointed  to  the  staff  of  one 
of  the  big  Brooklyn  hospitals. 

"Just  to  think  of  it!"  said  the  young  man.  "Here  I 
am  only  a  few  days  out  of  college,  too.  I  expect  to  learn 
a  whole  lot  in  that  hospital." 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  campaigner.  "I  know  of  no  better 
place  to  confirm  your  diagnosis  by  an  autopsy." 


THE  MEDICAL  STUDENT  211 

THE  BRAIN  AND  SPINAL  CORD 

They  may  talk  of  the  brain  and  point  with  pride 

To  its  arching  dome  and  its  basis  wide  ; 

To  its  cortical  cells  and  ganglia  deep, 

And  the  treasures  of  thought  its  chambers  keep, 

To  the  wonders  which  eye  and  ear  enthrall, 

But  the  spinal  cord  surpasses  them  all. 

For  the  eye  will  close,  and  the  brain  will  tire, 
And  our  thought  in  its  very  source  expire ; 
While  the  lordly  brow,  the  lowered  crest, 
Seeks  the  downy  pillow  in  needed  rest, 
But  the  sentinel  cord  its  vigil  keeps, 
For  "the  spinal  system  never  sleeps." 

The  brain  may  suffice  for  our  waking  hours, 
When  the  mind  controls  its  wayward  powers, 
'Tis  by  it  we  laugh  and  by  it  we  weep, 
It  leaves  us  to  die  when  it  goes  to  sleep ; 
But  the  tireless  cord  with  a  ceaseless  play 
Is  wakeful  and  active  both  night  and  day. 

When  the  powers  of  life  seem  about  to  yield, 
The  brain  is  the  first  to  resign  the  field ; 
But  the  spinal  cord  holds  out  to  the  last, 
And  it  often  conquers  when  hope  is  past, 
Survives  the  weak  maunderings  of  the  brain, 
And  ushers  us  back  to  the  world  again. 

Then  here  is  a  toast  I  would  have  you  hail, 
The  spinal  cord  from  the  bulb  to  the  tail, 
You  surely  must  honor  the  famous  spot 
Where  Flourens  located  "the  vital  knot." 
The  cord!  the  cord!  with  its  mysteries  deep, 
Which  the  pyramids  guard  and  the  ganglia  keep, 
The  first  to  grow  the  last  to  fail, 
The  spinal  cord  from  the  bulb  to  the  tail. 


212  THE  SHRINE  OF  iESCULAPIUS 

THE  MARK  OF  THE  LADY 

The  house  surgeon  of  a  London  hospital  was  attending 
to  the  injuries  of  a  poor  woman  whose  arm  had  been  severely 
bitten.  As  he  was  dressing  the  wound,  he  said:  "I  can- 
not make  out  what  sort  of  a  creature  bit  you.  This  is  too 
small  for  a  horse's  bite  and  too  large  for  a  dog's."  "Oh, 
sir !"  replied  the  patient,  "it  wasn't  an  animal ;  it  was  another 
lady." 


LINES  TO  A  SKULL 

Deprived  of  sepulchre,  thou  grinning  vault  of  bone, 
Emblem  of  death,  what  future  hast  thou  known? 
Those  lips  devoid  of  flesh,  those  caverns  void  of  eyes, 
Have  known  the  kiss  of  love,  the  glance  of  glad  surprise. 

All  nature  is  the  same.    This  skull  of  bone  retained 
The  thoughts,  the  acts  and  deeds  the  same  as  ours  contained. 
It  lived,  it  loved,  it  died ;  its  course  of  life  was  run. 
When  life  was  at  its  noontide,  he  laid  his  burden  down. 

The  summer's  stifling  heat,  the  winter's  chilling  blast, 
Unheeded  pass  thee  by.    Time  is,  time  was,  time  past, 
The  dark  reports  of  war,  the  plague  spot's  deadly  breath, 
Thou  calmly  look  upon,  thou  hollow  sphere  of  death. 

These  busy  thoughts  of  ours  shall  likewise  go, 
The  bounding  pulse  of  health,  or  by  old  age  made  slow 
Shall  like  a  wornout  clock,  run  for  a  time  and  stop — 
The  judge  upon  the  bench,  the  workman  from  the  shop. 

Death  knows  no  person.    Belted  earl  and  knave 
Meet  in  the  narrow  pathway,  which  leads  but  to  the  grave, 
Naught  that  is  human  long  endures,  e'en  this  busy  frame, 
Dust  to  dust  thou  art,  and  was,  and  leaveth  but  a  name. 

R.  W.  Battles. 


THE  MEDICAL  STUDENT  213 

"KNOW'D  WHAT  HE  GIV  HIM" 

During  the  war,  one  of  those  lovely  ladies  who  devoted 
themselves  to  relieving  the  sufferings  of  the  soldiers,  was 
going  through  a  ward  of  a  crowded  hospital.  There  she 
found  two  convalescent  soldiers  sawing  and  hammering, 
making  such  a  noise  that  she  felt  it  necessary  to  interfere 
in  her  gentle  way.  "Why,"  she  said,  "what  is  this  ? — What 
are  you  doing?"  "What  we  doin'?  Makin'  a  coffin — that's 
what."  "A  coffin?  indeed,  and  whom  is  it  for?"  "Who 
for?  that  feller  over  there" — pointing  behind  him.  The  lady 
looked,  and  saw  a  man  lying  on  his  white  bed,  yet  alive, 
who  seemed  to  be  watching  what  was  being  done.  "Why," 
she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "that  man  isn't  dead.  He  is  alive, 
and  perhaps  he  won't  die.  You  had  better  not  go  on." 
"Go  on!  Yes,  yes,  we  shall.  The  doctor  he  told  us.  He 
said,  make  the  coffin ;  and  I  guess  he  know'd  what  he  giv' 
him." 


EARLY  PRACTISE 


215 


A  FOREGONE  CONCLUSION 

Young  Doctor  :    Well,  I've  got  a  case  at  last. 
Young  Lawyer  :    Glad  to  hear  it.    When  you  get  him 
to  the  point  where  he  wants  a  will  drawn,  telephone  over. 


EXPERIENCE  REQUIRED 

One  day  while  mending  the  roof  of  his  house  a  Japanese 
lost  his  balance,  and,  falling  to  the  ground,  broke  a  rib.  A 
friend  of  his  went  hurriedly  for  a  hakim  (doctor). 

"Hakim,  have  you  ever  fallen  from  a  roof  and  broken 
a  rib?"  was  the  first  question  the  patient  asked  the  doctor. 

"Thank  heaven,  no,"  replied  the  hakim. 

"Then  go  away  at  once,  please,"  cried  Chodja.  "I  want 
a  doctor  who  has  fallen  from  a  roof  and  knows  what  it  is." 


A  CASE  FOR  CONSULTATION 

"Doctor,"  she  said,  archly,  "some  physicians  say  kissing 
isn't  healthy,  you  know.    What  do  you  think  about  it?" 

"Well,  really,"  replied  the  handsome  young  doctor,  "I 
don't  think  you  or  I  should  attempt  to  decide  that  off-hand. 
Let's  put  our  heads  together  and  consider." 


VITAL  SPOTS 


We  are  glad  to  learn  from  Dr.  T.  Hollingworth  An- 
drews that  the  solar  plexus  is  not  as  vital  a  spot  as  the  infra 
spinatus.  All  right,  all  right ;  also  thanks,  but  every  medical 
authority  recognizes  that  the  digitalis  spiritus  frumenti  is 
positively  fatal. 

217 


218  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

A  MEDICAL  EXAMINATION 

A  medical  journal  says  that  a  handsome  young  lady 
stepped  into  the  office  of  the  young  bachelor  secretary  of 
the  State  medical  examining  board.  She  (modestly)  : 
Are  you  the  secretary  of  the — State  Board  of  Examiners? 
He  (bashfully):  Yes,  ma'am.  She:  I  want  a  license 
to  practise  medicine  in  this  State.  He:  You  will  have 
to  be  examined  first.  She:  By  you  alone?  He:  No, 
ma'am;  before  the  full  board  of  examiners.  She:  Be- 
fore the  whole  board !  Why  that  is  terrible ;  I  can  not  con- 
sent. 


INDISPENSABLE 


"What  book  do  you  find  most  useful  in  your  practise?" 
asked  a  young  doctor  of  an  experienced  physician.  "Brad- 
street's,"  was  the  ready  reply. 


MEDICAL  IGNORANCE 

Among  the  papers  of  R.  H.  Stoddard  that  Ripley  Hitch- 
cock edited,  there  is  a  letter  which  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes, 
the  poet  physician,  is  said  to  have  received.  This  letter  was 
written,  many  years  ago,  by  an  ignorant  country  prac- 
titioner, and  it  is  interesting  because  it  shows  the  low  level 
to  which,  in  the  early  part  of  the  last  century,  it  was  pos- 
sible for  medical  education  to  fall. 

The  letter,  verbatim,  follows : 

"Dear  dock  I  have  a  pashunt  whos  physicol  sines  shoze 
that  the  winpipe  is  ulcerated  of  and  his  lung  hav  dropped 
into  his  stumick.  He  is  unable  to  swaller  and  I  fear  his 
stumick  toobe  is  gone.  I  have  giv  him  everything  without 
efeck  his  Father  is  wealthy  honorable  and  influenshul.  He 
is  an  active  member  of  the  M.  E.  church  and  God  noes  I 
don't  want  to  loose  him  wot  shall  I  do  ?" 


EARLY  PRACTISE  219 

IT  WAS  NOT  APPENDICITIS 

In  the  small,  up-country  town  of  Sanford,  Ga.,  there 
have  been  so  many  cases  of  appendicitis  since  that  fashion- 
able sickness  became  known  to  society  and  science  that  when 
Mrs.  Frazer  saw  the  doctor's  buggy  before  the  door  of 
Mr.  Harvey,  her  oldest  neighbor,  she  became  very  anxious 
to  know  how  he  was  "taken,"  and  stationed  herself  at  the 
window  for  the  purpose  of  waylaying  "Mammy,"  his  old 
colored  housekeeper,  to  make  inquiries. 

Mammy,  who  had  the  slow,  set  walk  and  lift  of  the  head 
of  a  well-established  house  servant,  presently  came  out, 
true  to  time,  to  do  her  marketing. 

"Mammy,"  announced  Mrs.  Frazer,  pointing  to  the 
buggy,  "Mr.  Harvey  sick?" 

"Oh,  ter'ble  bad,  ma'am." 

"And  what  does  the  doctor  call  it?" 

Mammy  had  a  poor  head  for  medical  terms.  "I  don't 
jist  exactly  remember,"  she  admitted  humbly.  "You  name 
over  de  different  sickness',  Miss ;  I  dun  hear  de  name,  an' 
I'll  call  'um  to  mind  ef  yr'  say  'um." 

Mrs.  Frazer  named  several  illnesses. 

"Not  dat — not  dat,"  asserted  Mammy  each  time. 
Presently  Mrs.  Frazer  spoke  the  fear  that  was  in  her  mind : 

"Is  it  appendicitis?" 

"Oh,  Lor',  honey,  no,"  cried  out  Mammy.  "I  dun  hear 
about  dat  new  fashion  of  ailment.  But  de  matter  wid  Massa 
is  some  old  style  sickness — jist  some  old  style  sickness. 
'Taint  none  o'  dem  high-class  disease  dat  come  in  since  de 
War." 

Mrs.  Frazer  sighed  relief :  "Well,  thank  God  for  that," 
she  said  fervently. 

And  Mammy  echoed :  "Yes,  ma'am,  yo'  right.  T'ank 
God  fo'  dat." 

MORTALITY  REDUCTION 

"Keep  'em  alive,  boy!  keep  'em  alive!"  said  an  old 
physician  to  his  young  brother  practitioner.  "Dead  men 
pay  no  bills." 


220  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^ESCULAPIUS 

A  PRACTICAL  QUESTION 

G.  R.  Glenn,  superintendent  of  Public  Instruction  of  the 
State  of  Georgia,  tells  this  story : 

One  day  he  had  explained  the  powers  of  the  X-ray 
machine  to  a  gathering  of  "darkies"  who  had  assembled  at 
a  school  commencement.  After  the  meeting  was  over  a 
negro  called  him  aside,  and  wanted  to  know  if  he  was  in 
earnest  about  the  machine.  Mr.  Glenn  assured  him  that  he 
was. 

"Boss,  I  wants  ter  ax  you  ef  er  nigger  et  chicken  kin 
you  look  in  him  an'  see  chicken?" 

"Why,  yes,  Ephraim,"  said  Mr.  Glenn. 

"Well,  boss,  I  wants  ter  ax  you  one  mo'  question.  Kin 
you  look  in  dat  nigger  an'  tell  whar  dat  chicken  cum  from  ?" 


A  CLEVER  DIAGNOSIS 

Wife  (to  sick  husband)  :  The  doctor  says  your  sys- 
tem needs  a  stimulant  and  has  prescribed  whisky.  Patient 
(eagerly)  :  That  physician  has  diagnosed  my  case  cor- 
rectly ;  he  knows  his  business.  When  are  we  to  begin  ? 
Wife:  Right  away.  You  are  to  take  half  a  teaspoonful 
after  each  meal. 


A  SURE  REMEDY 


There  was  an  Irishman  who  rushed,  late  one  night,  to 
a  doctor's  house  in  great  haste  and  terror.  He  rang  the 
doctor  out  of  bed,  and  he  said,  nearly  weeping : 

"Doctor,  doctor,  dear,  my  little  son  Pat  has  swallowed 
a  mouse.    What  in  the  world  is  to  be  done  ?" 

"Swallowed  a  mouse,  has  he?"  said  the  doctor  gruffly. 
"Well,  go  back  home  and  tell  him  to  swallow  a  cat." 


EARLY  PRACTISE  221 

WORRIES  OF  A  DOCTOR 

"Don't  look  so  bored,"  said  a  young  doctor  to  a  friend 
who  had  just  made  a  wry  face  after  listening  to  a  neighbor's 
tale  of  what  "my  youngest  boy  said  the  other  evening."  "If 
you  want  funny  experiences  with  young  fathers  and  mothers 
you  ought  to  be  a  doctor  for  a  while.  I  had  just  fallen  in- 
to a  fine  sleep  the  other  evening — it  was  the  first  time  for 
weeks  I  had  gone  to  bed  at  a  respectable  time — when  the 
telephone  bell  rang. 

"  'Halloa,  doctor,  doctor !'  said  the  voice  of  one  of  my 
young  matron  friends.    'Is  that  you?' 

"I  assured  her  that  it  was. 

"  'Well,  do  you  know,  I  can't  think  what  is  the  matter 
with  baby.  I'm  quite  frightened.  She  just  cries  and  cries, 
and  I'm  fearfully  afraid  she's  seriously  ill.' 

"I  didn't  suppose  there  was  anything  the  matter  with 
the  youngster,  but  I  proceeded  to  ask  a  number  of  ques- 
tions. 

"  'Why,  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  symptoms  of  sick- 
ness,' I  exclaimed.     'Perhaps  she's  hungry?' 

"  'Well,'  said  the  mother,  'I  never  thought  of  that.' 

"Then  she  rang  off.  I  crept  back  into  bed  and  had  just 
dropped  off  into  another  fine  doze  when  again  went  the 
telephone  bell. 

"  'Halloa !'  I  called. 

"  'Oh,  halloa !  doctor,'  went  the  same  voice.  'Doctor, 
you  were  right ;  she  was  hungry.    Good-bye.'  " 


A  BEGINNING 


Resident  :  Think  of  opening  an  office  in  this  neighbor- 
hood, eh?  Seems  to  me  you  are  rather  young  for  a  family 
physician. 

Young  Doctor:  Y-e-s,  but — er — I  shall  only  doctor 
children  at  first 


222  THE  SHRINE  OF  yESCULAPIUS 

ENCOURAGING  A  YOUNG  ONE 

"You  are  wanted  in  a  hurry  at  Mr.  Gazzam's,"  cried 
the  messenger  breathlessly. 

"Are  you  sure  they  sent  for  me?"  asked  young  Dr. 
Killiam. 

"Yes ;  they  said  you  couldn't  do  any  harm  as  Mr.  Gaz- 
zam's dying  now." 


EVEN  THAT  WOULD  HELP 

A  physician  was  called  in  to  treat  a  case  of  delirium 
tremens. 

"Can  you  cure  the  delirium  tremens,  doctor?"  he  was 
asked. 

"No,"  answered  the  physician. 

"Then  what  can  you  do?"  he  was  asked. 

"I  can  make  the  snakes  look  smaller,"  was  the  response 
of  the  M.  D. 


THE  KING'S  DISEASE 

"Young  Dr.  Doce  has  struck  it  rich  at  last." 

"How?" 

"He  refuses  to  treat  anything  but  perityphlitis." 


REVERSED 


"Now,"  said  the  doctor  who  knew  what  was  what  when 
it  came  to  dyspeptics,  "take  this  prescription  to  the  best 
butcher  you  know,  and  get  it  filled.  And  if  the  steak  isn't 
tender  change  butchers." 

"And  when,"  asked  the  trembling  invalid  in  whom  the 
medicine  habit  was  strong,  "will  I  take  it  ?" 

"Just  before  medicine  time,  and  then  forget  the  med- 
icine," replied  the  physician,  who  was  a  great  joker. 


EARLY  PRACTISE  $2$ 

AN  IMPROVEMENT  NOTED 

"And  how  is  your  husband  now,  Mrs.  Nubride?" 
"He's  better,  thank  you.    A  few  days  ago  he  was  ter- 
ribly run  down,  but  he's  recovered  enough  to  eat  health 
foods  again." 


THE  NEW  DISEASE 

"Your  husband  requires  rest,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he 
came  from  the  sick-chamber.    "He  will  soon  be  well ;  he  has 

a  bad  attack  of  tickerosis."     "Tickerosis,  doctor!  Why, 

that's  a  new  disease,  isn't  it?"     "Yes,  quite  new.  It  is 

caused  by  watching  the  ticker  in  the  broker's  offices.  It  af- 
fects the  optic  nerve  and  the  spinal  column." 


TIMID 

The  man  who  is  never  seriously  sick  was  finally  per- 
suaded by  anxious  friends  to  apply  to  the  physician  for  a 
prescription.  He  looked  at  the  abbreviated  Latin  and  the 
signs  which  indicate  quantity  and  said: 

"I  suppose  you  got  this  out  of  a  book?" 

"Yes,  originally." 

"A  man  had  to  trust  to  his  memory  to  copy  it  out  of 
another  book?" 

"Certainly." 

"And  a  compositor  set  it  up  ?" 

"Yes." 

"And  a  proofreader  took  a  turn  at  it?" 

"Naturally." 

"And  now  you're  depending  on  your  recollection  to  get 
it  correct?" 

"But,  my  dear  sir — " 

"I  know — you're  not  a  man  to  take  chances.  But  I'm 
too  timid  to  trust  my  physical  safety  to  anything  that  seems 
so  much  like  hearsay  evidence." 


224  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

AGAINST  ODDS 

"Why  didn't  you  send  for  me  sooner  ?"  said  the  doctor 
to  a  patient  who  was  almost  at  the  jumping-off  place. 

"Well,  doctor,"  replied  the  invalid,  "you  see  it  took  me 
a  long  time  to  make  up  my  mind  to  do  anything  desperate." 


A  THOROUGH  EXAMINATION 

The  following  story  is  told  of  a  coroner  who  was  called 
upon  to  hold  an  inquest  over  the  body  of  an  Italian.  The 
only  witness  was  a  small  boy  of  the  same  nationality,  who 
spoke  no  English.  The  examination  proceeded  thus: 
"Where  do  you  live,  my  boy?"  The  boy  shook  his  head. 
"Do  you  speak  English  ?"  Another  shake  of  the  head.  "Do 
you  speak  French?"  Another  shake.  "Do  you  speak  Ger- 
man?" Still  no  answer.  "How  old  are  you?"  No  reply, 
"Have  you  father  and  mother  ?"  No  reply.  "Do  you  speak 
Italian?"  The  boy  gave  no  sign.  "Well,"  said  the  coroner, 
"I  have  questioned  the  witness  in  four  languages,  and  can 
get  no  answer.  It  is  useless  to  proceed.  The  court  is  ad- 
journed." 


SAW  IT  CLEARLY 


"My  friend  called  with  me  on  a  lady  who  was  suffering 
from  goiter,"  said  a  young  physician.  "He  exhibited  great 
sympathy  and  recommended  a  number  of  remedies,  all  of 
which  had  been  tried  with  no  good  result.  After  a  few 
moments  of  reflection  he  made  a  new  suggestion.  'There 
is  a  lady  doctor  who  has  been  making  some  wonderful  cures 
up  in  Westchester  County.  I  wish  you'd  go  and  consult 
her.'  'What's  her  name?'  'Oh,  that's  just  what  I've  been 
trying  to  recollect.  Now  it  isn't  Jones,  or  Smith,  or  Brown, 
or  any  of  those  short  names.  Let  me  see ;  let  me  see.  Oh ; 
now  I  have  it;  I  remember  now.  Yes,  it's  Miss  Gara 
Voyant.     That's  the  name. ' " 


EARLY  PRACTISE  225 

UPS  AND  DOWNS 

Doctor  :    Do  you  know  the  effects  of  getting  too  much 
mercury  in  your  system  ? 

Denny:    Yis,  doctor.    Oi'd  be  a  thermometer. 


BLIND  INFERENCE 

Doctor:  Thomas,  did  Mrs.  Popjoy  get  the  medicine 
I  ordered  yesterday? 

Thomas  :  I  b'leeve  so,  sir ;  I  see  all  the  blinds  down 
this  morning. 


HER  AFFLICTION 


Charles  Emory  Smith  says  he  is  not  afflicted  like  the 
dyspeptic  lady  who  consulted  her  physician  and  reported 
his  conclusion.  "The  doctor,"  she  said,  "told  me  that  my 
real  difficulty  was  that  I  hadn't  sufficient  gall  to  justify  my 
victuals." 


A  MATTER  OF  TASTE 

Surgeon  :  Your  pulse  is  still  very  high,  my  friend ! 
Did  you  get  those  leeches  all  right  I  sent  the  day  before 
yesterday  ? 

Patient  :  Yes,  sir ;  I  got  'em  right  enough ;  but 
mightn't  I  have  'em  b'iled  next  time,  sir? 


EVIDENCE  OF  THE  SERVICE 

A  physician,  on  presenting  a  bill  to  the  executor  of  the 
estate  of  a  deceased  patient,  asked,  "Do  you  wish  to  have 
my  bill  sworn  to?"  "No,"  replied  the  executor;  "the  death 
of  the  deceased  is  sufficient  evidence  that  you  attended  him 
professionally." 


226  THE  SHRINE  OF  yESCULAPIUS 

FOR  A  YOUNG  M.  D. 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  doctor,  "you  should  try  to  have  your 
own  carriage,  by  all  means.    Because  when  you  want  to  get 

to  a  patient  quickly "  "Oh,"  interrupted  the  young  M. 

D.,  "I  don't  think  any  patient  who  sent  for  me  would  be 
likely  to  die  before  I  reached  him."  "No;  but  he  might  re- 
cover before  you  got  there." 


MODERN  MIRACLES 

A  physician,  who  is  something  of  a  wag,  called  on  a 
colored  Baptist  minister,  and  propounded  a  few  puzzling 
questions :  "Why  is  it,"  said  he,  "that  you  are  not  able  to 
do  the  miracles  that  the  apostles  did?  They  were  pro- 
tected against  poisons  and  all  kinds  of  perils;  how  is  it 
that  you  are  not  protected  in  the  same  way?"  The  colored 
brother  replied  promptly:  "Don't  know  'bout  dat,  doctor; 
I  'spect  I  is.  I's  tooken  a  mighty  sight  ob  strong  med'cine 
from  yo,  doctor,  an'  I's  'libe  yit!" 


AFTER  THE  MEDICAL  COMMENCEMENT 

Two  newly-fledged  physicians  met  the  other  day,  and 
the  following  highly  interesting  conversation  ensued: 

"Ah!  good  morning,  doctor." 

"Good  morning,  doctor." 

"And  how  are  you  to-day.  doctor?" 

"First-rate;  and  how  are  you,  doctor?" 

"I'm  all  right.  Got  a  good  case  of  meningitis  at  your 
hospital,  doctor?" 

"Yes,  come  down  and  take  a  look  at  it.  Anything 
special  up  your  way,  doctor?" 

"Man  fell  from  a  scaffolding  and  broke  his  neck  two 
days  ago,  still  alive,  may  get  over  it.  Pleased  to  have  you 
call,  doctor." 

"Thank  you,  I  will,  doctor.  Good-day,  doctor." 

"Good-day,  doctor." 


EARLY  PRACTISE  227 

SELF-INCRIMINATING 

A  remarkably  honest  Chicago  doctor  sent  in  a  certifi- 
cate of  death  the  other  day  with  his  name  signed  in  the 
space  reserved  for  "Cause  of  death." 


THE  WRONG  KIND  OF  A  DOCTOR 

The  portly  physician  was  in  a  reminiscent  mood,  and 
this  is  the  story  he  told  after  the  cigars  had  been  passed 
around  and  lighted : 

"After  I  was  turned  out  of  the  medical  college  a  full- 
fledged  physician,  I  looked  around  for  a  lively-looking  town 
to  locate  in.  After  a  search  of  over  a  month  I  found  a 
small  town  where  I  thought  they  needed  another  doctor,  so 
I  determined  to  locate  there. 

"As  I  was  entering  the  shop  of  the  local  sign  painter 
to  have  a  shingle  painted  an  old  man  drove  up  before  the 
place  and  excitedly  asked  the  sign  painter  if  he  knew  where 
Doc  Smith  was. 

"  'Doc's  gone  fishing,'  said  the  painter.  'What's  the 
matter  ?' 

"  'Betsy's  sick,'  fumed  the  old  man.  'I  wish  that  fellow 
would  stay  home  and  attend  to  business.' 

"Here  was  my  opportunity  I  thought,  so  I  stepped  for- 
ward and  said: 

"  'Perhaps  I  can  help  you  out ;  I  am  a  doctor.' 

"The  old  man  looked  me  over  rather  doubtfully  and  then 
shouted  for  me  to  jump  in.  I  did  so  and  he  put  the  gad  to 
his  horse  and  we  dashed  away  at  a  rate  that  threatened  to 
wreck  us  before  we  had  gone  a  mile. 

"  'What  is  the  matter  ?'  I  shouted  to  make  myself  heard 
over  the  noise  that  the  old  rattle-trap  of  a  wagon  made. 

"  'What  do  you  suppose  I'm  taking  you  out  there  for  if 
it  isn't  to  find  out?"  he  snapped. 

"Well,  I  held  my  peace  after  that  and  waited  develop- 
ments.   We  had  a  drive  of  twelve  miles  before  we  reached 


228  THE  SHRINE  OF  /ESCULAPIUS 

his  home  and  when  we  reached  there  he  drove  straight  for 
the  barn. 

"  'Now,  git  to  work,'  he  shouted,  indicating  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand  a  mare  that  was  lying  on  the  barn  floor. 

"Then  it  burst  upon  me  that  he  wanted  a  horse  doctor, 
and  with  the  best  command  of  dignity  that  I  could  muster  I 
told  him  that  my  practise  was  solely  confined  to  human  be- 
ings. The  way  that  old  man  went  for  me  was  awful,  and 
while  the  fireworks  were  playing  about  my  head  the  mare 
died  and  there  was  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  walk  home, 
as  the  old  man  said  he  would  see  me  elsewhere  before  he 
would  drive  me  back,  and  that  I  ought  to  be  thankful  if  I 
didn't  get  a  suit  for  damages  on  my  hands." 


X-RAYS 


I  care  not  for  the  Roentgen  craze — 

The  question,  to  perplex, 
Is  not  how  to  produce  X-rays, 

But  how  to  raise  the  X. 


Charles  Follen  Adams. 


WHY  HE  PROSPERED 

A  certain  man  was  hanged,  then  he  died.  And  he  left 
two  sons,  honest  men. 

Now,  one  of  the  sons  was  a  blacksmith.  But  the  other 
became  a  physician.  And  after  that  their  father  had  been 
taken  from  them  these  brothers  made  their  homes  in  other 
lands. 

And  the  blacksmith  would  have  prospered.  But  it  be- 
fell that  one  asked  him  how  his  father  made  end.  And  the 
blacksmith,  looking  angrily  upon  him,  answered,  "He  was 
hung."    For  the  blacksmith  was  an  honest  man. 

Howbeit,  presently,  when  a  horse  was  missing,  men 
gathered  and  hanged  the  blacksmith,  saying,  "This  man 


EARLY  PRACTISE  229 

must  take  after  his  father."  So  the  blacksmith  did  take 
after  his  father,  but  whether  he  caught  up  with  him  the 
tale  telleth  not. 

And  at  the  same  time,  in  his  own  city,  one  inquired  of 
the  physician  by  what  means  his  father  died.  And  the 
physician  covered  his  face  and  wept. 

But  while  he  wept  he  considered,  saying  within  him- 
self, "If  I  say,  'He  was  hanged,'  then  shall  I  shock  this  man 
and  give  him  pain,  and  it  is  my  office  to  relieve  pain.  Never- 
theless I  must  tell  the  truth." 

He  said  therefore,  "My  father  died  of  heart  failure." 
And  again  he  wept,  the  questioner  weeping  with  him. 

Then,  this  being  told,  men  said,  "Doubtless,  since  his 
father  died  of  heart-failure,  this  good  physician  and  loving 
son  hath  made  study  of  kindred  diseases."  So  they  resorted 
unto  him. 

And  the  physician  became  a  specialist.  And  he  looked 
at  them  who  came,  and  coughed  once  and  sneezed  twice  and 
demanded  one  hundred  dollars.  And  they  gave  gladly,  for 
the  physician  was  an  honest  man. 


GENERAL  PRACTISE 


231 


TRAKEYOTOMY  DAN 

Trakey — yes !  it  are  a  curi'us  name, 

But,  stranger,  mixed  up  with  it  are  a  story,  just  the  same. 

Yer  see,  Gibson  were  a  doctor  es  hed  a  brain  tu  think, 

An'  hed  all  the  village  practis  afore  he  tuk  tu  drink; 

But  he  an'  his  financey  hed  a  leetle  fallin'  out, 

When  she  ups  an'  weds  a  feller  es  was  nothin'  but  a  lout. 

The  docter  kinder  weaken'd,  and  tuk  ter  drinkin'  gin, 

An'  the  way  that  he  kep'  at  it  wus  a  most  alfired  sin. 

He  didn't  kere  fur  nothin'  but  wud  stag'er  thro'  the  street, 

A-cussin'  an'  a-hollerin'  like  I  never  seed  the  beat. 

The  parson  preeched  about  him  es  a  warnin'  to  all  men, 

While  Gibson,  from  the  church  door,  hollered  out  a  loud 

amen. 
But  like  thet  Rip  Van  Winkle,  o'  whom  you've  heerd,  no 

doubt, 
He  luved  the  leetle  children  that  follered  him  about; 
So  when  Trakey,  playin'  yonder,  was  takin'  awful  sick, 
He  cum  up  home  ter  treat  him,  but  I  chased  him  double 

quick, 
'Cause  we'd  sent  for  Doctor  Sloper,  a  goodish  sort  o'  man, 
Ter  physic  leetle  Trakey,  who's  Christyun  name  es  Dan ; 
But  somehow  the  boy  grew  worser,  an'  Sloper  sed  he'd  die. 
So  we  tho't  we'd  send  fur  Gibson,  an'  let  him  have  a  try. 
I  cu'dn't  quite  believe  it,  when  I  seed  him  comin'  in 
So  dignified  and  sober,  like  afore  he  tuk  ter  gin. 
Trakey  riz  to  greet  him,  but  fell  back,  white  and  weak, 
Then  try'd  ter  tell  him  somethin',  but  cudn't  even  speak. 
His  breath  grew  short  and  shorter,  an'  he  struggl'd  hard 

fur  air, 
A-clutchin'  at  his  windpipe,  in  a  sort  o'  mute  dispair. 
Gibson  seem'd  most  sorrerful,  an'  slowly  shook  his  hed, 
Mumbled  somethin'  'bout  dipthery,  an'  in  an  hour  bein' 

dead; 

233 


234  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

But  Sam,  he  sed,  a-suddin'  like,  I'll  tell  ye  what  I'll  do, 
I'll  perform  a  trakeyotomy,  an'  mebbe  pull  him  thro'. 
I  didn't  know  exactly  what  he  me'nt  by  sech  a  name, 
But  sed  es  how  ter  go  ahed,  an'  I  wu'd  take  the  blame. 
Well !  he  giv'  him  chloreform,  'till  he  lay  like  he  wus  de'd, 
An'  my  heart  kep'  sinkin',  sinkin',  es  if  it  were  o'  le'd ; 
But  when  I  seed  him  cut'in',  an'  the  blood  a-flowin'  free, 
The  room  and  all  things  in  it  seem'd  swimmin'  around  me. 
Bimeby  I  got  my  senses ;  thar  was  Trakey  all  correck, 
Breathing,  oh !  so  peacefully,  thro'  a  tube  within  his  neck. 
Darn  me!  I  cudn't  help  it,  o'  course  it  were  fur  j'y, 
But  I  threw  my  arms  'round  Gibson,  an'  hed  a  good  ol'  cry. 
He  watched  my  boy  an'  nussed  him,  'til  I  'swan  I  couldn't 

see 
How  any  human  bein'  could  stand  as  much  as  he ; 
Fur  he  never  left  his  bedside  'til  he  tuk  the  tube  away. 
Es  fur  gin,  he  never  teched  it ;  'tho'  'twere  always  in  his  way. 
We  all  wus  hyfilutin,  when  Trakey  left  the  bed, 
'Cept  Gibson !  who  was  mopish,  with  a  throbbin'  in  his  he'd. 
Pretty  soon  he  tuk  a  retchin',  followed  by  a  heavy  chill, 
Jest  the  same  es  Trakey  hed  after  he  tuk  so  ill. 
I  ain't  no  shakes  at  docterin',  but  I  cud  plainly  see 
The  doctor  wus  a  sicker  man  than  he  let  on  to  be ; 
So  we  sent  again  for  Sloper,  but  this  time  he  wus  right. 
Gibson  hed  dipthery,  an'  wud  die  before  the  night. 
Thet  were  Sloper's  verdict.  Gibson  sed  'twere  fur  the  best, 
Es  the  grave  ter  any  drunkard  wus  but  a  place  of  rest ; 
Thet  life  ter  him  wus  weary,  full  o'  shame  an'  full  o'  sin, 
An'  'twere  better  to  die  this  way  than  loaded  up  with  gin. 
Along  a-toward  the  evenin',  his  mind  got  out  o'  gear, 
An'  he  raved  about  his  marriage  at  the  endin'  o'  the  year' 
Kep'  a-callin'  fur  his  sweetheart,  an'  risin'  out  o'  bed 
Sed  he  guessed  he'd  go  and  see  her,  but  keeled  right  over, 

de'd. 
The  parson  preeched  about  him,  es  a  noble  ship  astray. 
But  which  seed  the  savin'  beacon  in  time  to  find  its  way, 
An'  sed  he  was  a  hero — an'  so  says  every  man 
As  ever  heered  the  story  o'  Trakeyotomy  Dan. 

John  C.  Macevitt,  M.  D. 


GENERAL  PRACTISE  235 

IMAGINATION 

Friend:  I  heard  you  tell  that  lady  there  was  nothing 
the  matter  with  her  husband  but  imagination ! 

Doctor:  Yes; — he's  worth  a  million  dollars  and  has 
got  the  "Jim"Jams" ! 


HIS  INTERPRETATION 

Once  upon  a  Time,  a  lank,  anaemic  Agriculturist,  with 
a  redundant  Adam's-apple  and  protruding  Knees,  consulted 
a  Physician  in  regard  to  his  Case  and  was  directed  to 
eschew  for  a  Season  all  Sweets  and  Pastry,  including  the 
seal-brown  Molasses  in  which  he  was  wont  to  wallop  his 
Flapjacks  of  a  Morning,  and  the  tempting  but  well-nigh 
suicidal  Pumpkin-pies  which  it  had  been  his  Habit  to  in- 
dulge in  as  a  Beverage,  so  to  express  it,  and  to  take  plenty 
of  Exercise  in  other  ways  than  discussing  Politics,  and 
confine  himself  to  a  diet  of  Animal  Foods. 

After  paying  what  was  due,  the  Farmer  went  on  his 
Way,  credulously  believing  that  Doctors  know  more  than 
Common  Folks;  but,  a  few  Weeks  later,  he  returned  in  a 
decidedly  pessimistic  frame  of  Mind  to  prove  to  the  Physi- 
cian by  Ocular  Demonstration  that  his  health  was  in  no 
wise  mended.  He  had  faithfully  followed  the  Directions 
as  to  Exercise;  but  declared  that  while  the  Corn  and  Oats 
and  Chicken-dough  had  not  'peared  to  injure  him  to  any 
great  Extent,  he  really  and  truly  believed  the  Timothy  Hay 
had  upset  his  Stummick  for  good  and  all. 

Moral. — From  this  we  should  Learn  that  it  is  small 
wonder  that  the  Purveying  of  Gold  Bricks  continues  to  be 
a  pleasant  and  profitable  Avocation. 


THE  REASON 


"I  thought  your  doctor  wouldn't  let  you  drink?" 
"I  know,  but  I  changed  doctors." 


236  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

DOCTORS'  BIG  FEES 

The  doctor  and  some  of  the  reporters  were  talking  in 
the  little  room  opposite  the  telephone  office  down  at  Bellevue 
Hospital. 

"I  see  by  the  papers,"  said  the  doctor,  mentioning  the 
story  of  a  large  bill  reported  to  have  been  sent  in  by  a 
surgeon  of  the  city,  "that  this  doctor  didn't  feel  satisfied  with 
four  thousand  dollars.  He  thought  he  ought  to  have  four 
thousand  six  hundred  dollars.  That's  a  rather  fine  dis- 
tinction perhaps  but  it  all  depends  on  the  sort  of  a  case 
which  the  surgeon  treated.  A  man  with  his  skill  and  his 
standing  can  charge  almost  anything  he  pleases. 

"The  way  in  which  some  physicians  earn  large  fees  is 
curious.  I  recall  one  case  of  the  sort — or  at  least  a  story 
of  a  case  for  I  won't  vouch  for  the  truth  of  it  all.  A  man 
had  been  suffering  for  some  time  with  gastritis  and  had 
been  treated  for  more  than  a  year  by  several  physicians. 
The  usual  treatment  is  to  put  the  patient  on  a  milk  diet. 
That  usually  does  the  work  but  this  man  kept  growing 
worse.  He  finally  summoned  Dr.  B.,  one  of  the  best-known 
physicians  in  the  city.  When  Dr.  B.  learned  the  history 
of  the  case  he  took  one  long  look  at  the  man's  face  and 
reached  for  his  hat. 

"  'I  need  time  to  think  this  over,'  he  said.  'You  meet  me 
to-morrow  at  Delmonico's,  and  I'll  prescribe  treatment  of 
some  sort  for  you.' 

"The  patient  appeared  at  the  time  the  doctor  had  set. 

"  'Come  in  and  sit  down,'  said  the  physician.  'I  can 
talk  to  you  while  I  am  eating  my  dinner.' 

"Then  the  physician  said  something  in  a  low  tone,  and 
when  the  waiter  came  back  he  brought  two  orders  of 
oysters.    The  patient  looked  surprised. 

"  'Now,'  said  the  doctor,  'you  just  fall  to  and  eat  a 
good  meal.    That's  all  you  want.' 

"It  turned  out  that  the  doctor  was  right.  The  man, 
who  had  been  nearly  dead,  was  soon  in  good  health.  Then 
the  physician  sent  in  his  bill.    It  was  for  four  thousand  dol- 


GENERAL  PRACTISE  237 

lars.  When  the  man  received  it,  he  hurried  around  to  the 
doctor's  office. 

"  'By  thunder/  said  the  man,  'do  you  think  I'm  made 
of  money?  I  can  pay  it  all  right,  but  now,  honestly,  doc- 
tor, don't  you  think  it's  pretty  large?' 

"  'No,'  replied  the  physician.  'Your  life  is  worth  more 
than  four  thousand  dollars,  isn't  it?  Well,  I  saved  your 
life.    I  can't  see  that  I'm  asking  too  much.' 

"The  man  sent  around  his  check  the  next  day." 


PRESCRIPTION  AND  PUN 

A  physician  was  called  upon  to  see  a  seamstress  who 
felt  indisposed.  He  inquired  as  to  her  health,  and  she  re- 
sponded very  appropriately,  "Well,  it's  about  sew  sew,  doc- 
tor, but  seams  worse  to-day,  and  I  have  frequently  stitches  in 
the  side."  The  doctor  hemmed  as  he  felt  her  pulse,  said 
she  would  mend  soon;  and  left  her  a  prescription. 


A  SURE  CURE 


Hosteller  McGinnis,  who  has  ruined  his  constitution 
by  getting  drunk  again,  went  to  the  sanctum  of  an  Austin 
doctor  and  said:  "I  am  troubled  with  unpleasant  dreams 
at  night.  How  can  I  prevent  myself  from  dreaming  bad  at 
night?"  "Well,  perhaps,  the  best  remedy  for  you  to  try 
first  is  to  do  all  your  sleeping  before  sundown,"  said  the 
doctor,  solemnly. 


WISE  INVALID 


Physician  (to  patient's  wife)  :  Why  did  you  delay 
sending  for  me  until  your  husband  was  unconscious  ? 

Wife:  Well,  doctor,  as  long  as  he  retained  his  senses 
he  wouldn't  let  us  send  for  you. 


238  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

AN  APPEAL  FOR  SPEED 

A  good  story  is  told  of  a  digger  who  had  ridden  into  a 
Western  Australian  town  to  consult  a  doctor.  Having  done 
so,  he  went  to  have  the  prescription  made  up. 

"How  much  is  this  lot?"  he  asked  the  chemist. 

"Well,  let  me  see,"  was  the  reply.  "There's  seven- 
and-six-pence  for  the  medicine  and  a  shilling  for  the  bot- 
tle." He  hesitated,  uncertain  whether  he  had  charged  for 
everything. 

"Oh,  hurry  up,  boss,"  said  the  impatient  miner.  "Put 
a  price  on  the  cork,  and  let  us  know  the  worst." 


RESIGNED 


"Doctor,"  said  Mr.  Pneer,  "can  you  save  his  foot?" 
"I  am  afraid  not,"  replied  the  old   family  physician. 

"It  will  have  to  come  off.    You  must  try  to  be  resigned  to 

the  will  of  Providence,  Mr.  Pneer." 

"I  know  it,"  rejoined  the  father  of  the  boy,  wiping  his 

eyes.    "It  will  save  me  something  in  shoe  leather." 


IN  OTHER  WORDS 

"Is  it  true  that  your  uncle  died  of  heart  failure  ?"  asked 
the  Philadelphia  girl. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Boston  maid,  "I  believe  the  physician 
attributed  his  demise  to  cardiac  deficiency." 


FITZSIMMONS'  DOCTOR 

First  Newsboy:  See  dat  guy  wid  de  big  whiskers? 
Dat's  Bob  Fitzsimmons'  doctor. 

Second  Newsboy:    How  d'you  know  he  is? 

First  Newsboy:  'Cause  he's  got  a  sign  in  his  office 
window  what  reads,  "I  Cure  Fits." 


GENERAL  PRACTISE  239 

SHORT  TETHER 

Wife:  Oh,  doctor,  Benjamin  seems  to  be  wandering 
in  his  mind ! 

Doctor  (who  knows  Benjamin)  :  Don't  trouble  about 
that — he  can't  go  far. 


REMARKABLE  SYMPTOMS 

"Well,  Patrick,"  asked  the  doctor,  "how  do  you  feel  to- 
day?" "Ouch,  doctor,  dear,  I  enjoy  very  poor  health  en- 
tirely. The  rheumatics  are  very  distressing  indade;  when 
I  go  to  slape  I  lay  awake  all  night,  an'  my  toes  is  swelled 
as  big  as  a  goose  hen's  egg ;  so  whin  I  sthand  up  I  fall  down 
immajit." 


HIS  CIRCULATION  ALL  RIGHT 

Editor  (anxiously)  :  Well,  doctor,  what  is  the  matter 
with  me?    Nothing  serious  I  hope. 

Doctor  :  H'm !  well,  you  are  in  a  bad  way.  Your  cir- 
culation is  very  low. 

Editor  (excitedly)  :  What?  Why,  sir,  I  have  at  least 
two  hundred  thousand  a  day.  You  have  been  reading  a 
rival  sheet. 


FREQUENT  DOSES 

A  popular  doctor  on  Long  Island,  who  had  served  in 
the  war,  visited  a  patient,  the  wife  of  a  companion  in  arms. 
While  writing  the  prescription  the  doctor  was  talking  with 
his  fellow-soldier  about  the  war.  Having  finished  the  pre- 
scription, he  handed  it  to  Mrs.  H — ,  who  looked  at  it,  and 
then  asked : 

"Doctor,  had  I  not  better  take  this  a  little  oftener?" 
"I  guess  not,"  said  the  doctor;  but  on  reading  it  he 
changed  his  mind,  for  he  had  written,  "Every  three  years 
vone  teaspoonful." 


240  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

NO  DAMAGE  DONE 

One  of  the  stingiest  men  in  New  York  fell  from  a 
street-car  and  broke  his  leg  in  two  places. 

"Are  you  hurt  ?"  asked  one  of  the  parties  who  came  to 
his  assistance. 

"Not  a  particle,"  replied  the  sufferer,  grinding  his  teeth 
in  pain ;  "I  pay  a  doctor  so  much  a  year." 


A  DISEASE  THAT  IS  RARE 

Mrs.  Juniper  entered  the  doctor's  office  dragging  by 
the  hand  an  overgrown  boy  of  fourteen.  She  was  excited 
and  impatient;  he  was  dogged  and  glum. 

"Oh,  doctor,  he  has  lost  his  voice!  He  hasn't  spoken 
a  word  for  two  days  !"  she  said. 

The  boy  looked  at  her  sullenly,  and  suffered  the  doctor 
to  hold  his  face  up  to  the  light. 

"Open  your  mouth.     H'm!     Tongue  all  right?" 

"Ya-ah." 

"Hold  your  head  up  and  let  me  look  at  your  throat. 
Seems  to  be  something  the  trouble  there.  Push  your  tongue 
out.    Now  pull  it  back.    Feel  all  right  ?" 

"Ya-ah." 

"Why,  Mrs.  Juniper,  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with 
him,"  said  the  doctor  impatientlv.  "Boy,  why  don't  you 
talk  ?" 

"How  can  I  when  I  ain't  got  anything  to  say?" 


HAD  TRIED  ELECTRICITY 

"Have  you  given  electricity  a  trial  for  your  complaint, 
madam?"  asked  the  minister,  as  he  took  tea  with  the  old 
lady.  "Electricity!"  said  she.  "Well,  yes,  I  reckon  I  has. 
I  was  struck  by  lightning  last  summer  and  hove  out  of  the 
window ;  but  it  didn't  seem  to  do  me  no  sort  of  good." 


One  o 

callet: 
one  oi 
was  p 
said  h 
«'i 

me — t 
was  bii 

the  o! 


The  Physical   Examtnation 


GENERAL  PRACTISE  241 

PULLING  EYE  TEETH 

"Dr.  Johnson,  of  Morris  County,  New  Jersey,"  writes  a 
friend,  "an  old  physician,  known  and  respected  by  all  the 
community,  was  riding  leisurely  along,  one  summer  day, 
and  a  party  of  Irish  hay-makers,  taking  a  nooning  with 
their  bottle  under  a  tree,  thought  to  put  a  joke  upon  him. 
One  of  them  stepped  out,  and  calling  to  the  doctor  to  stop, 
asked  him  to  come  over  and  pull  a  tooth.  Hitching  his 
horse  he  was  soon  among  them,  when  the  man  who  had 
called  him  handed  him  a  hay-rake,  and  asked  him  to  pull 
one  of  its  teeth.  Without  hesitation,  the  doctor  took  it,  and 
was  preparing  to  perform  the  operation,  when  the  fellow 
said  he  guessed  he  wouldn't  have  it  drawn  to-day. 

"  'Oh,  very  well,'  said  the  doctor ;  'it's  all  the  same  to 
me — fifty  cents,  sir !'  And  sure  enough  the  fellow  found  he 
was  bit,  and  had  to  pay  the  usual  fee.  He  never  trifled  with 
the  old  gentleman  again." 


DOCTORS  KNEW  THEIR  BUSINESS 

Congressman  John  Sharp  Williams  tells  of  a  man  in 
Mississippi  who  is  a  hypochondriac  of  the  first  order.  This 
individual's  failing  is  a  source  of  never-ending  amusement 
to  his  fellow-townsmen.  It  was  of  this  man  that  some  one 
humorously  remarked,  in  answer  to  a  question,  as  to  how 
the  sick  man  was  getting  on,  that  he  "complained  that  he 
was  feeling  somewhat  better." 

Mr.  Williams  says  that  the  hypochondriac  was  one  day 
telling  a  friend  of  his  efforts  to  regain  his  old-time  health. 
He  ran  over  the  list  of  doctors  whom  he  had  consulted. 
Whereupon  the  friend  remarked : 

"Well,  old  man,  I  must  say  that  you  appear  to  have 
lots  of  faith  in  doctors." 

"Certainly  I  have,"  replied  the  sick  man.  "Don't  you 
think  the  doctors  would  be  foolish  to  let  a  good  customer 
like  me  die  ?" 


242  THE  SHRINE  OF  .ESCULAPIUS 

SEEING  DOUBLE 

A  resident  of  one  of  the  small  towns  came  to  the  city 
to  consult  an  eminent  oculist,  whose  fee  is  never  less  than 
ten  dollars.  The  granger  was  rather  green  in  appearance, 
so  the  doctor  thought  to  have  a  little  fun  at  the  expense  of 
his  rural  visitor.  A  prism  was  placed  before  his  eyes  in 
order  to  test  the  muscles. 

"Why,  doctor,"  exclaimed  the  patient,  "I  see  two  can- 
dles!" 

"Indeed!"  replied  the  doctor.  "You  are  very  fortu- 
nate." 

"How  so?" 

"Why,  just  think  what  an  advantage  you  have  over 
the  rest  of  us !  You  see  everything  double,  and  beautiful 
pictures,  charming  landscapes  and  lovely  faces  are  all  re- 
peated to  you." 

When  the  prescription  for  the  proper  glasses  was 
written,  the  man  from  the  country,  without  a  smile,  laid  a 
five-dollar  bill  on  the  table,  with  the  remark : 

"There,  doctor ;  there's  ten  dollars  for  you." 


DEAD,  BUT  IN  PERIL 

Smith,  who  had  always  been  a  "tough  one,"  has  just 
died.  The  physician  is  met  coming  from  the  house  by 
Brown,  who  asks:  "Doctor,  how  is  Smith?  Is  he  out  of 
danger?"  Physician:  "No.  He  is  dead,  poor  fellow;  but 
he  is  far  from  being  out  of  danger ;  I  fear." 


SATISFACTORILY  ARRANGED 

"I  believe,"  said  the  young  physician,  "that  bad  cooks 
supply  us  with  half  our  patients." 

"That's  right,"  rejoined  the  old  doctor.  "And  good 
cooks  supply  us  with  the  other  half." 


GENERAL  PRACTISE  243 

TWO  KINDS  OF  DOCTORS 

The  Reverend  Dr.  Charming  had  a  brother,  a  physician, 
and  at  one  time  they  both  lived  in  Boston.  A  countryman 
in  search  of  the  divine  knocked  at  the  physician's  door. 
"Does  Dr.  Channing  live  here?"  he  asked.  "Yes,  sir." 
"Can  I  see  him?"  "I  am  he."  "Who?  you?"  "Yes,  sir." 
"You  must  have  altered  considerably  since  I  heard  you 
preach."  "Heard  me  preach?"  "Certainly.  You  are  the 
Dr.  Channing  that  preaches,  ain't  you?"  "Oh,  I  see  you 
are  mistaken  now.  It  is  my  brother  who  preaches,  I  am  the 
doctor  who  practises." 


NOT  TO  LAST  LONG 

There  is  no  worse  occupation  for  an  earnest  physician 
than  to  listen  to  the  complaints  of  people  who  pretend  to 

be  ill.    Dr. ,  who  was  called  upon  by  one  of  his  patients 

for  nothing  about  once  a  week,  ended  by  inquiring :  "Then 
you  eat  well?"  "Yes."  "You  drink  well?"  "Yes."  "You 
sleep  well?"  "Certainly."  "Wonderful!"  said  the  doctor, 
as  he  prepared  to  write  a  prescription.  "I'm  going  to  give 
you  something  that  will  put  a  stop  to  all  that." 


TAPPED 


"I  advise  tapping,"  said  the  doctor,  after  having  ex- 
hausted all  the  powers  of  his  healing  art  on  the  case.  The 
father  of  a  family,  a  hard  drinker,  was  bloated  with  the 
dropsy  to  the  size  of  a  barrel.  He  had  drunk  nothing  but 
whiskey  for  years,  but  the  doctor  said  he  was  full  of  water 
nevertheless,  and  advised  him  to  be  tapped.  The  old  man 
consented,  but  one  of  the  boys,  more  filial  than  the  rest, 
blubbered  badly,  and  protested  loudly  against  it. 

"But  why  don't  you  want  father  to  be  tapped?" 
"'Cause  nothing  that's  tapped  in  this  house  ever  lasted 
more  than  three  weeks." 


244  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

BETTER  THAN  MEDICINE 

"Aha!"  shouted  the  patient  triumphantly,  as  he  rushed 
into  the  doctor's  office.  "I've  cured  that  insomnia  now.  I 
sleep  like  a  top." 

"How's  that?" 

"I  leave  that  loud  new  golf  suit  of  mine  in  another 
room  when  I  go  to  bed." 


WRITING  TOO  MUCH 

"Doctor,"  said  Frederick  Reynolds,  the  dramatist,  to 
Dr.  Baillie,  the  celebrated  physician,  "don't  you  think  I  write 
too  much  for  my  nervous  system?"  "No,  I  don't,"  said 
Dr.  Baillie ;  "but  I  think  you  write  too  much  for  your  repu- 
tation." 


NOT  MINCING  MATTERS 

Dr.  Jephson  of  Leamington  was  noted  for  being  brusque 
and  unceremonious.  A  great  London  lady,  a  high  and 
mighty  leader  of  society,  who  had  taken  suddenly  ill,  sent 
for  him.  Jephson  was  so  off  hand  with  Her  Grace  that  she 
turned  on  him  angrily  and  asked :  "Do  you  know  to  whom 
you  are  speaking?"  "Oh,  yes,"  replied  Dr.  Jephson  quietly; 
"to  an  old  woman  with  the  stomach-ache." 


HIS  RETALIATION 

"About  the  meanest  man  I  ever  knew,"  said  the  Old 
Codger,  "was  Lyman  Parlow.  If  you'd  tell  him  what  to  do 
for  his  rheumatism,  he'd  go  right  off  and  follow  your  ad- 
vice ;  and  then,  the  next  time  he  met  you,  he'd  take  up  half 
an  hour  of  your  time  tellin'  you  all  about  the  effect  it  had 
on  him." 


GENERAL  PRACTISE  245 

A  STORY  OF  HORACE  MANN 

The  story  is  told  of  Horace  Mann,  that  one  evening 
as  he  sat  in  his  study  an  insane  man  rushed  into  the  room 
and  challenged  him  to  a  fight.  Mr.  Mann  replied:  "My 
dear  fellow,  it  would  give  me  great  pleasure  to  accommo- 
date, but  I  can't  do  it,  the  odds  are  so  unfair.  I  am  a 
Mann  by  name,  and  a  man  by  nature,  two  against  one! 
It  would  never  do  to  fight."  The  insane  man  answered: 
"Come  ahead,  I  am  a  man  and  a  man  beside  myself,  let 
us  four  have  a  fight." 


A  QUESTION  OF  AVERAGE 

Doctor  :  Um !  Cold  no  better.  Strange !  Been  tak- 
ing cod-liver  oil?  That's  right.  Been  wearing  medium 
under-clothing  ? 

Patient:  Well,  yes.  That  is,  I  had  a  very  light  suit 
and  a  very  heavy  one. 

Doctor:  Don't  mean  to  tell  me  you've  been  wearing 
one  and  then  the  other? 

Patient:  Yes.  I  thought  they  would  average  up  all 
right. 


A  SHREWD  REPLY 

The  doctor's  testimony  went  to  prove  the  insanity  of  the 
party  whose  mental  capacity  was  the  point  at  issue.  On 
the  cross-interrogation  he  admitted  that  the  person  in  ques- 
tion played  admirably  at  whist.  "And  do  you  seriously  say, 
doctor,"  said  the  learned  counsel,  "that  a  person  having  a 
superior  capacity  of  a  game  so  difficult,  and  which  requires, 
in  a  preeminent  degree,  memory,  judgment,  understanding 
could  be  insane?"  "I  am  no  card-player,"  said  the  doctor, 
with  great  address,  "but  have  read  in  history  that  cards 
were  invented  for  the  amusement  of  an  insane  king." 


246  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

NOTHING  WAS  RIGHT  THERE 

The  house  committee  of  a  lunatic  asylum  had  been 
visiting  the  institution  on  a  certain  occasion,  and  were  after- 
wards standing  talking  in  the  grounds,  when  one  of  their 
number,  happening  to  glance  at  the  asylum  clock,  cried: 
"Good  gracious !  Is  that  the  time  ?"  and  turning  to  a  man 
who  was  just  passing  he  inquired:  "Is  that  clock  right?" 
"No,"  dryly  replied  the  stranger,  who  turned  out  to  be  an 
inmate.    "If  it  had  been  richt  it  wadna'  hae  been  here." 


A  COMPLIMENTARY  NOTICE 

Dumas  one  day  dined  at  the  house  of  Dr.  Gistal,  a 
celebrity  of  Marseilles.  After  dinner  the  good  doctor 
brought  his  distinguished  guest  an  autograph  album,  and 
asked  him  to  add  his  name  to  it.  "Certainly,"  said  Dumas, 
and  he  wrote:  "Since  the  famous  Dr.  Gistal  began  to 
practise  here  they  have  demolished  the  hospital — "  "Flat- 
tery!" cried  the  delighted  doctor.  "And  on  its  site  made  a 
cemetery,"  added  the  author. 


A  REASONABLE  BILL 

Russell  Sage  was  deploring  the  cut-throat  methods  that 
warring  railroads  so  often  apply  to  one  another.  "It  is 
wrong,"  he  said,  "it  is  wrong.  It  is  not  good  business." 
Then,  smiling  a  little,  he  resumed : 

"It  is  the  kind  of  business  that  a  physician  and  a 
tavern-keeper — acquaintances  of  my  boyhood — used  upon 
each  other  once.  The  physician  was  overtaken  by  a  storm 
on  a  cold  winter  night,  and  rather  than  drive  ten  miles 
home,  he  put  up  at  the  tavernkeeper's  house.  He  and  his 
host  sat  for  an  hour  or  two,  before  they  went  to  bed,  at  a 
table  on  which  a  bottle  of  whisky  stood.  They  talked 
pleasantly,  but  neither  took  anything  to  drink.    What,  there- 


GENERAL  PRACTISE  247 

fore,  was  the  physician's  surprise  in  the  morning  to  find  on 
his  bill  a  charge  of  fifty  cents  for  whisky. 

"  'Why,  man,  I  drank  none  of  your  whisky,'  he  said  to 
the  tavernkeeper. 

"  'Maybe  you  didn't,'  the  other  replied.  'But  you  might 
as  well.     It  was  there  on  the  table  for  you.' 

"The  physician  paid  the  fifty  cents,  and  a  week  or  two 
later  he  put  up  at  the  tavern  again.  This  time  he  ran  up 
a  bill  of  a  good  size.  What  with  the  things  he  ate  and 
drank  and  smoked,  seated  with  the  landlord  at  the  table, 
his  medicine  case  before  him,  his  account  came  to  some- 
thing like  five  dollars. 

"In  the  morning,  when  he  got  his  bill  (it  was  five 
dollars  exactly),  he  gave  the  landlord,  instead  of  cash,  a 
receipted  bill  of  his  own  for  a  like  amount.  At  this  bill 
the  landlord  stared. 

"  'Medicine,  five  dollars !'  he  exclaimed.  'What  does  this 
mean?    I  haven't  taken  any  of  your  medicine.' 

"  'But,  friend,  why  didn't  you  ?'  said  the  physician.  'It 
lay  before  you  on  the  table  all  last  evening.' " 


THE  DENTAL  STUDENT 


249 


SATISFACTORY 

Dentist  :  Well,  how  do  the  new  teeth  work  ?  Every- 
thing satisfactory? 

Patient:    Not  exactly.    They  seem  to  cut  the  others. 

Dentist:  Naturally.  They  don't  belong  to  the  same 
set,  you  know. 


LUCKY  TOOTH 


Wife:  I  have  just  been  to  the  dentist's  and  had  a 
tooth  drawn. 

Husband:  Lucky  tooth!  It  is  now  beyond  the  reach 
of  your  tongue. 


A  MISUNDERSTANDING 

Rube:  Yaas,  Si  is  dead.  Went  inter  town  ter  git  a 
tooth  pulled.  Dentist  feller  told  him  he'd  better  take  gas 
fust  an' — 

Josh  :    Dentist  gev  him  too  much,  eh  ? 

Rube:  Oh  no.  After  the  dentist  feller  told  him  that 
he  went  back  to  his  hotel  an'  took  the  gas  hisself. 


NATURALLY  ADAPTED 

"Your  highness,"  suggested  the  shipwrecked  captive, 
"is  there  not  some  position  on  your  staff  that  I  can  fill?" 

"Mn — well— there  is  a  vacancy,  but  you  might  not  be 
able  to  fill  it.    I  need  a  torturer." 

"Just  the  thing.    I  used  to  be  a  painless  dentist." 

Josh  Wink, 

251 


252  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

MISSING  THE  DOCTOR 

"You  look  so  happy  that  I  suppose  you  have  been  to 
the  dentist  and  had  that  aching  tooth  pulled,"  said  a  Gal- 
veston man  to  a  friend  with  a  swollen  jaw.  "It  ain't  that 
that  makes  me  look  happy.  The  tooth  aches  worse  than 
ever ;  but  I  don't  feel  it."  "How  is  that?"  "Well,  I  feel 
so  jolly  because  I  have  just  been  to  the  dentist  and  he  was 
out." 


THE  SIX  HUNDRED 

Teacher  :  Johnny,  who  were  the  six  hundred  referred 
to  in  the  line,  "Into  the  jaws  of  death  rode  the  six  hun- 
dred?" 

Johnny:     Why-er-ah-oh-why-they  were  dentists. 


WOMAN  DENTIST  HAS  NO  MERCY 

She  is  just  a  little  woman  with  a  lot  of  curly  brown 
hair  and  a  determined  mouth  always  ready  to  smile,  says 
the  New  York  Commercial  Advertiser.  She  lives  in  a  big 
house  on  Lexington  Avenue,  and  has  her  name  and  title 
emblazoned  in  gold  on  one  of  the  front  windows.  The  house 
is  quite  luxurious  within,  and  the  big  drawing-room  gives 
one  no  hint  of  the  terrors  that  await.  Beyond  the  doors  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  drawing-room  is  what  the  little 
woman  calls  "my  chamber  of  horrors,"  and  here  she  pur- 
sues her  calling  all  day  and  every  day  "and  at  night  by 
electric  light." 

Sometimes  the  doors  between  the  parlor  and  the  office 
are  left  ajar,  and  this  is  what  the  ears  of  the  visitor  are 
greeted  with:  "Whirr-whirr-whirr!"  from  the  foot  pedals, 
and  "whizz-izz-izz"  from  the  wheel,  and  then  a  stifled  groan 
from  the  big  red  velvet  chair.    The  other  noises  cease. 

"Hurt  much  ?"  says  the  voice  of  the  woman  whose  name 


THE  DENTAL  STUDENT  253 

is  in  the  window.  "I'm  afraid  you  are  a  coward.  I'll  have 
to  send  you  to  a  children's  dentist.  Why,  I  pulled  out  eight 
teeth  for  a  man  the  other  day  and  he  didn't  make  as  much 
fuss  as  you.  I'll  doctor  that  nerve  with  ice  water  and  then 
we'll  begin  again." 

Another  groan  from  the  red  velvet  chair  as  she  re- 
sumed.   As  the  dentist  works  she  chats : 

"The  vanity  of  men !"  she  exclaimed  the  other  day. 
"Why,  women  can't  hold  a  candle  to  them.  When  a  woman 
gets  a  set  of  false  teeth  she  wants  to  go  away  and  hide 
somewhere  for  a  month,  to  get  used  to  them.  But  a  man — 
well,  a  man  becomes  positively  childish.  (Don't  squirm 
like  that;  is  that  gold  too  hot?)  He  stands  in  front  of  the 
mirror,  talks,  smiles,  and  laughs  in  twenty  different  keys, 
to  see  the  effect  of  the  new  ivories.  Then  he  asks  me  what 
I  think  of  them,  and  in  a  few  days  he  comes  in  and  tells  me 
about  a  set  he  has  seen  that  has  gold  filling  in  the  front, 
and  what  would  I  think  if  he  had  some  put  in  his.  Finally 
I  get  so  tired  of  that  man  that  I  dread  to  hear  his  name. 
But  there  are  a  good  many  like  him,  and  I'll  say  this  much 
for  him,  he  is  willing  to  pay  for  good  work,  and  never 
squabbles  over  the  bill — as  women  do." 

An  odd  fact  is  that  the  majority  of  her  patients  are 
men.  She  explains  it  by  saying  that  men  think  she  will  be 
gentler  than  would  a  man  dentist  and  that  women  don't 
trust  their  own  sex. 

"Why,"  says  the  little  dentist  indignantly,  "a  woman 
brought  her  little  boy  in  the  other  day  to  have  a  tooth  pulled. 
She  asked  for  my  partner,  who  was  out.  She  was  ushered 
in  to  me  and  I  looked  as  the  tooth.  Before  I  began  she 
said:  'Are — are — you  quite  sure  you  are  strong  enough?' 
'Madam/  I  said,  'I  have  pulled  teeth  for  Jack  McAuliffe,' 
and  then  I  extracted  that  small  boy's  aching  molars  so 
quickly  that  he  actually  forgot  to  scream.  Yes,  Mr.  Mc- 
Auliffe is  a  patient  of  mine  and  is  as  gentle  as  a  lamb,  but 
he  makes  terrible  grimaces  and  sometimes  I'm  glad  I'm  not 
a  man." 

The  writer  waiting  outside  the  "chamber  of  horrors" 


254  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

the  other  day  had  a  unique  experience.  She  heard  the 
dentist  imploring  for  mercy — surely  an  experience  which 
many  of  his  victims  would  have  enjoyed.  He  was  in  the 
chair  and  his  feminine  partner  was  executing  little  sym- 
phonies with  the  buzzing  wheel. 

"Now — let  me  speak — just  one  minute!"  wailed  the 
man  in  the  chair. 

"Open  your  mouth,  please."      Buzz !  buzz !  buzz ! 

"Ouch !    Oh,  I  say,  be  careful—" 

"A  little  wider,  please — there — "  — whirr !  whirr !  whirr ! 

"If  you'll  only  stop — we'll  go  to  see — " 

"Open  your  mouth,  unless  you  wish  your  tongue  cut 
off!" 

"And  to  Delmonico's  after — " 

"Don't  wriggle  like  that  or  I  will — " 

"And  you  can  choose  the  seats." 


THE  STUDENT  OF  PHARMACY 


255 


CURING  A  COLD 

Mr.  Bifkins  had  a  cold, 

It  settled  in  his  head, 
"Always   hits   the   weakest  spot," 

Funny  friends  all  said. 
Mr.  Bifkins  coughed  and  wheezed 

Shivered,  sneezed,  and  shook, 
Listened  to  his  friends'  advice — 

This  is  what  he  took : 

Box  of  antikamnia. 

Douched  his  nose  with  brine, 

Mustard  plaster  on  his  chest, 

Camphor  balls, 

Quinine, 

Bottle  of  Dr.  Killem's  Cure, 

Onion  stew, 

Some  squills, 

Horehound  tablets, 

Licorice, 

Anti  febrine  pills, 

Porous  plaster  on  his  back, 

Spirits  frumenti, 

Menthol  inhalation  tube, 

Ginger, 

Rock  and  rye, 

Bottle  of  cough  syrup, 

Whisky — just  a  sip, 

Mutton  tallow  on  his  neck, 

Box  of  anti-grip, 

Vapor  bath, 

Electric  shocks, 

Brandy, 

257 


258  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

Cure  for  croup, 

Emulsion  of  cod-liver  oil, 

Ugh! 

Some  strong  beef  soup. 

Every  remedy  that  they  urged 

Mr.  Bifkins  tried ; 
Now,  they  said  they  cured  the  cold, 

But  Mr.  Bifkins  died ! 


MALARIAL  PRONUNCIATION 

Scene. — Village  Drug  Store.  Drug  Clerk  (alleged) 
building  wind-mill  behind  prescription  desk.  Time — All 
day. 

Old  Lady  (coming  in,  and  seeing  top  of  head  over 
rail)  :    Mornin',  Ezry ! 

Drug  Clerk  (pounding  his  fingers):  S-s-s-wp! — 
mornin' ! 

Old  Lady:    How's  trade? 

Drug  Clerk  (in  aspirates)  :  Blank-blinkity-blunk- 
blink  blink!  that  blink-blanked,  round-headed  hammer! 
(Affably)     Pretty  fair  considerin'.     Pep'mint  drops? 

Old  Lady:  Five  cents'  wuth,  as  cust'mary,  an'  'bout 
'n  ounce  of  quinine  for  Father.    He's  got  'm  agin. 

Drug  Clerk:  Sho!  This  quarter's  punched;  but, 
seein'  it's  you,  Miss  Gidney,  I'll  circulate  it  on  some  one 
that  can  better  'ford  to  lose  it.    Mornin' ! 

Old  Lady:    Mornin'! 

Drug  Clerk  goes  back  to  his  work  as  an  artisan,  draws 
a  nail,  splits  hub  of  wheel  irreparably,  blink-blanks  some 
more,  and  Little  Girl  appears. 

Little  Girl  :  My  mother,  she  wants  nine  cents'  worth 
of  keenneen,  'n  she  '11  pay  you  to-night  when  she  comes 
down  to  the  village. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  PHARMACY  259 

Drug  Clerk  points  at  sign,  which  hangs  over  soda- 
fountain,  and  calls  the  attention  of  Little  Girl  to  the  legend 
that: 

"To  trust  is  bust: 
No  trust,  no  bust." 

and  Little  Girl  goes  out. 

Drug  Clerk  tired  of  architecture,  makes  a  figure-four 
of  himself  in  doorway  and  a  solitaire  bet  on  the  result  of 
a  cur-fight  going  on  in  the  street. 

Village  Pastor  walks  by,  turns  back,  and  hurrying 
past  the  soda-fountain  as  an  implement  of  ungodly  possibil- 
ities so  far  as  lower  left-hand  spigot  is  concerned,  goes  to 
back  of  store.  Clerk  follows  him  in,  crawls  under  drop- 
counter  shelf,  and  puts  on  a  cold  religious  brace. 

Drug  Clerk:    Good  mornin',  Mr.  Baker. 

Village  Pastor:  Good  morning,  Mr.  Musgrave.  I 
want  a  small  box  of  Green's  bronchial  troches. 

Drug  Clerk  :  Yes,  sir.  Here  they  are.  Fine  sermon 
of  yourn  yisterday! 

Village  Pastor  {looking  over  his  glasses)  :  I  didn't 
see  you  there. 

Drug  Clerk  (a  little  disconcerted)  :  No,  Mr.  Fitts  was 
to  White  Plains,  'n  I  hed  to  tend  shop.  Sister  gave  it  to  me 
in  the  evenin',  though,  most  word  'r  word. 

Village  Pastor:  I  see.  Mr.  Musgrave,  are  these 
troches  entirely  fresh?  It  appears  to  me  that  these  -r-r- 
blooms  on  the  box  bear  a  strange  resemblance  to  -r-r  -  that 
is,  so  to  speak,  they  indicate  the  past  visitation  of  flies. 

Drug  Clerk  (examining  box  critically)  :  Guess  that 
box  is  a  leetle  mossy.  Mistakes  will  occur,  Mr.  Baker. 
Here's  a  box  that  came  in  yesterday.  (Surreptitiously,  and 
while  the  Village  Pastor  is  sampling  cough-candy,  wets 
his  fingers  and  wipes  off  end  of  box  which  hass  been  exposed 
to  the  light.) 

Village  Pastor  (with  his  teeth  stuck  together  by  a 
piece  of  candy)  :  Z-that'll  z-h  do,  Mr.  Mushgab — (getting 
his  jaivs  apart  with  a  snap)  : — now,  if  you  will  put  me  up  a 


260  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

small  keeneen  powder,  I'll  run  along.  Thanks.  Good- 
morning. 

Drug  Clerk:  Good-mornin'.  Call  ag'in.  He  come 
pretty  nigh  floorin'  me  on  the  sermon  racket. 

Village  Supervisor:  Think  I'm  a  magazine?  Ex- 
tract ! 

Drug  Clerk:  Yes,  sir.  When's  the  new  hose-cart 
comin'  ? 

Village  Supervisor  (mysteriously) :  Wait  'n'  see. 
(Goes  oat  again.) 

Drug  Clerk:  Ole  Baits  '11  bust  his  proud-box  one  'r 
these  days.     (Resumes  the  figure-four  pose.) 

Doctor  (bustling  in  with  a  two-gallon  can)  :  Fill  her. 
Ez!  move  lively!  Hen  Purdy  's  all  swelled  up  again. 
Quinine's  the  only  thing  that'll  fetch  him.  Got  to  pump  him 
full.  Put  it  on  the  slate,  will  you?  So  long.  Hold  up! 
Gimme  a  swallow  of  the  extract  quinn.  Kind  'r  chilly  this 
morning.  If  old  Hildreth  comes  in,  give  him  the  same  dose 
and  charge  him  stiff.  I'll  take  commission  out  of  the  soda- 
squirter  to-night. 

Drug  Clerk  (looking  over  account  book)  :  Doc's  ac- 
count 's  gittin'  pretty  stiff.  Seventeen  dollars  'n'  ten — no, 
twelve  cents.  Guess  we'll  have  to  set  on  his  neck  nex'  time 
ole  man  Age  get  took  V  pays  up.  He  always  tells  when  he 
pays  his  bills. 

Little  Boy  (sticking  his  head  around  the  door-post)  : 
Got  any  extrac'  of  Juniper? 

Drug  Clerk  (suspiciously)  :  That  won't  work,  Toast 
Fickett!  You  wan'  me  ter  say  "yes,"  so's  you  can  ast  me 
why  I  don't  ketch  one  an'  nip  him  with  it.  There  ain't  no 
butterflies  on  this  posey — not  to  any  great  extent.  Say,  why 
ain't  you  to  school?    Guess  I'll  have  to  speak  to  Mr.  Gibbs — 

(Throws  a  squeezed  lemon  at  the  boy,  reconsiders  the 
action,  goes  out  after  the  fruit,  squeezes  two  more  drops 
out  of  it,  and  puts  it  away  to  dry  for  peel.) 

During  the  rest  of  the  day,  fourteen  townspeople  and 
an  emancipated  slave  comes  in,  and  asks  respectively  for 
k'neane,    quinnin,     quineine,    kaneen,    queenin,    kwanine, 


THE  STUDENT  OF  PHARMACY  261 

queenann,  kewine,  some-of-that-air-stuff,  quinenean,  k'n, 
quean,  fever-buster,  and  q-q-q-n-n-in-i-chk,  leavened  only 
by  one  little  boy  who  orders  an  ounce  of  "laudlum,"  which 
the  Drug  Clerk  puts  up  cautiously  and  labels : 

Ladlum 

Poision 
Geo.  Fitts.  Pharmacist, 

Chilton,  New  York. 

Drug  Clerk  {putting  up  shutters  at  8:30  P.  M.): 
Glad  it's  night.  I  can't  help  thinkin'  what  a  fine  taown  this 
would  be  for  one  o'  them  earth-quakes  to  strike.  Find  ev'thin' 
already  a-shakin'  for  it,  'n'  d-d-d-darned  'f  I  f-f-feel  jest 

right  myself.    G-g-guess  I'll  go  in  'n'  take  s-s-s-s-  (d 

them  hiccups)  ifter  'f  q-q-q-n-n-n-  my  (br-r-r-r-r-rgh)  self. 

James  S.  Goodwin. 


A  KENTUCKY  DRUG  STORE 

First  Drummer:  I  saw  a  funny  sign  in  a  Louisville 
saloon,  lately. 

Second  Drummer:  What  was  it — "No  Shooting  Al- 
lowed?" 

First  Drummer:  No; — "Physicians'  Prescriptions 
Carefully  Compounded." 


EASY  TO  PRESCRIBE  FOR 

Druggist  :    What  did  that  man  want  ? 
Clerk  :    He  wanted  something  for  the  grip. 
Druggist:    What  did  you  give  him? 
Clerk  :    Don't  know ;  didn't  look.    Everything  is  good 
for  the  grip. 


262  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

WRONG  DIAGNOSIS 

"Read  the  direkshuns  quick,  Mandy !" 
"It  sez,  'fer  adults — one  teaspoon'  " — 
"Thunder!    That  ain't  what  ails  me — what  else  does  it 
say?" 


A  MISTAKE 


Customer  :  What's  this  ?  Seventy-five  cents  for  a  two 
cent  stamp  ?    Why  that  is  outrageous ! 

Druggist:  Beg  your  pardon,  sir.  I  thought  you  had 
a  prescription  for  it. 


A  RARE  DRUG 

(This  is  not  a  patent  medicine  advertisement.) 

Are  you  sick  at  the  heart  and  discouraged,  my  man? 
Do  you  try  to  do  more  than  you  honestly  can? 
Have  you  overexerted  your  body  and  brain, 
By  plodding  and  striving  with  might  and  with  main? 

Take  thou  a  phial 

Of  Self-Denial! 

Has  dyspepsia  claimed  you  for  one  of  its  own  ? 
Does  neuralgia  threaten  your  wits  to  dethrone? 
Is  there  on  your  whole  system  a  terrible  drain? 
Have  you  never  a  moment  of  freedom  from  pain? 

Turn  your  mind's  dial 

Toward  Self-Denial ! 

Are  you  nervous,  and  restless,  and  never  at  ease  ? 
Is  your  head  all  afire  while  your  ankle-joints  freeze  ? 
Does  your  spinal  arrangements  seem  breaking  in  twain? 
Do  you  feel  just  as  though  you  were  going  insane? 

Give  it  a  trial, 

This  Self-Denial! 

Addison  Fletcher  Andrews. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  PHARMACY  263 

THE  DOCTOR 

He  walked  in  briskly,  and  Billby,  who  is  considered  a 
good  judge  of  the  different  varieties  of  humanity  and  be- 
lieves himself  a  match  for  any  of  them,  was  impressed  with 
his  professional  air. 

"Tomkins  in?"  inquired  the  stranger. 

Tomkins  is  the  senior  partner. 

"Just  gone  to  try  his  luck  at  a  restaurant.  Have  a  seat 
and  wait?" 

"Isn't  that  too  bad !  How  long  do  you  'spose  he'll  be 
gone  ?"  The  visitor  consulted  his  watch  with  apparent  anx- 
iety. 

"Oh,  maybe  a  half  hour;  he'll  be  back  by  2  o'clock 
anyway." 

"I  really  ought  to  see  him,  of  course,  but  I  have  an  ap- 
pointment for  1  45.  I  was  coming  over  this  way  and 
thought  I  would  bring  Tomkins'  medicine  and  save  him  the 
trouble  of  coming  after  it.    Could  I  leave  it  with  you  ?" 

"Sure." 

"Well— er,  the  charge  was  seventy-eight  cents.  Just 
tell  Tomkins  I  paid  it,  will  you?" 

"Why,  say ;  just  let  me  pay  you." 

"Oh,  no ;  that's  all  right.  I'll  see  Tomkins  in  a  day  or 
two,  anyway." 

"Might  just  as  well,"  urged  Billby.  "He  may  forget 
it  you  know." 

The  stranger  pocketed  the  seventy-eight  cents  and  said : 
"Tell  Tomkins  I  hope  the  medicine  will  help  him." 

Tomkins  arrived  fifteen  minutes  later. 

"There  it  is,"  said  Billby,  without  looking  up  from  his 
desk. 

"There  what  is  ?"  inquired  Tomkins. 

"Your  medicine." 

"Medicine  for  what?"    Tomkins  was  puzzled. 

"How  should  I  know?  If  it  were  my  prescription  for 
you  it  would  be  a  hair  restorer." 


264  THE  SHRINE  OF  iESCULAPIUS 

"What  are  you  talking  about?  What  do  I  want  with 
medicine  ?" 

Billby  silently  and  impressively  reached  for  the  package 
and  deposited  it  in  front  of  Tomkins.  "Your  doctor  brought 
it." 

"Why,  I  haven't  consulted  a  doctor  for  ten  years. 
You've  been  dreaming." 

"Great  Scott!  I  wonder" — Billby  was  beginning  to 
wake  up.    "Let  me  see  what's  in  the  bottle." 

"I  didn't  get  it  on  that  Masonic  Temple  purchase  or 
the  lake  front  expansion,"  remarked  the  junior  partner  a 
few  minutes  later,  after  he  had  sent  the  office  boy  out  for 
the  cigars,  "but  I  think  I'm  the  original  purchaser  of  Lake 
Michigan  on  the  installment  plan  at  seventy-eight  cents  for 
two  ounces." 


WANTED  TWO  BOTTLES  OF  REFRAIN 

A  Western  congressman  whose  testimonial  of  a  patent 
medicine  has  of  late  appeared  in  all  the  papers,  has  recently 
received  a  remarkable  letter  from  a  person  who  evidently 
thinks  the  congressman  has  the  remedy  on  sale  as  a  sort 
of  congressional  side  line.    The  letter  follows : 

"Dear  friend  &  statesman:  I  rite  you  the  urliest  dait 
to  be  so  cind  as  to  do  me  a  fafor.  I  haf  tried  all  cinds  of 
patent  medisin  for  heart  decetse  an  no  avail.  I  red  your 
little  pome  on  Hart  deces  beginnin 

"The  hart  which  sad  tumultus  beets, 
with  throbs  of  keenest  pain 
will  oft  recover  its  defects 
Thro'  natur's  sweet  refrain. 
"I  now  ask  you  to  send  me  by  return  male  2  bottles  of 
your  medisin  naturs  sweet  refrane.     I  haf  never  tried  an 

injun  doc  but  haf  took  all  cinds  erbs.    Sen  to 

Penn. 

P.  S. — I  will  sen  prise  by  return  male." 


THE  STUDENT  OF  PHARMACY  265 

THE  DRUG  CLERK 

'  'Tell  your  troubles  to  a  policeman'  has  long  been  an 
expression  when  a  man  was  bored  by  hearing  the  woes  of 
another,"  said  a  drug  clerk  the  other  evening,  "but  if  you 
would  hear  the  woes  of  mankind  hot  from  human  lips  just 
step  behind  the  prescription  counter  and  listen  to  the  troubles 
I  have  to  endure  and  the  tales  I  have  to  listen  to  during  my 
trick  of  duty.  The  policeman  has  his  troubles,  and  the  street 
car  conductor  runs  his  a  close  second.  Neither  is,  however, 
a  marker  to  the  poor  drug  clerk." 

"Got  anything  good  for  a  cold?" 

The  speaker  was  a  man  who  appeared  to  possess  aver- 
age intelligence.  Did  he  have  anything  for  a  cold?  What 
is  a  drug  store  for?  Well,  the  drug  clerk  proceeded  to 
rattle  off  a  number  of  things  he  had  found  to  be  good  for  a 
bad  cold,  and  finally  the  man  decided  he  would  step  over 
to  the  soda  fountain  and  take  a  lemonade.  And  the  drug 
clerk  had  not  suggested  such  a  dose. 

After  the  man  with  the  cold  had  imbibed  his  lemonade 
he  returned  to  his  first  love — the  drug  clerk — and  proceeded 
to  pour  out  some  more  misery. 

"Went  to  a  dance  the  other  night,  you  know,"  he  began. 
"I'm  a  very  smart  young  man,  and  after  I  had  danced  every 
number  on  the  menu  I  proceeded  to  stroll  into  the  cold  and 
refreshing  night  air.  Look  at  me  now.  Am  I  a  dream  of 
delight?  Oh,  the  bright  things!  I  suppose  if  the  plumber 
would  come  along  with  a  pail  of  hot  lead  I  would  dip  my 
finger  into  it  to  see  if  it  were  really  hot." 

The  poor  drug  clerk  had  to  listen  and  appear  to  like  it. 

"Mister,  I  want  a  nickle's  wuth  o'  wepson  salts  for  my 
mamma,"  chirped  a  youngster  as  he  handed  over  an  empty 
bottle  and  incidentally  knocked  over  half  a  dozen  bottles  of 
perfume.  He  wanted  to  invest  a  nickel  and  destroyed  a 
dollar's  worth  of  stock.  Good  profit  for  the  druggist,  don't 
you  think?  The  kid  got  the  salts,  stole  a  sponge,  carried 
away  half  a  dozen  almanacs  and  a  card  advertising  little 
liver  pills. 


266  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

"Doctah,  kin  you'  tell  me  what's  good  fo'  a  pluracy 
pain  in  ma  side?  Ah  done  had  a  mos'  mis'ble  time  dis  las' 
night ;  deed  I  has." 

An  old  black  "mammy"  had  ambled  into  the  store  and 
held  her  hand  on  the  offending  side  and  groaned  as  the  drug 
clerk  proceeded  to  mix  some  brown  sugar  and  water  to 
give  her. 

"How  much  is  dis?" 

"Oh,  nothing ;  that  will  be  all  right." 

"Thank  you,  sah." 

Asked  why  he  did  not  charge  for  the  prescription  the 
drug  clerk  sighed  and  said:  "She  didn't  have  any  money. 
She  would  have  stood  me  off.  I  know  her.  What's  the  use 
darkening  your  books  with  bad  accounts  ?" 

The  drug  clerk  looked  across  the  store  and  saw  an  old 
man  coming. 

"Great  heavens!  Here  comes  another!"  groaned  the 
drug  clerk. 

"Who  is  he?"  repeated  the  clerk.  "He  is  a  patent  med- 
icine fiend.  He  buys  every  patent  medicine  in  the  world  that 
has  the  words  'Cures  Dyspepsia'  on  the  wrapper.  He  tries 
every  free  sample  of  everything,  and  if  there  is  a  patent 
medicine  in  the  world  that  this  fellow  hasn't  been  up  against, 
then  I  miss  my  guess.     Now  listen." 

"Good  mornin',  doctor,"  groaned  the  apparition  as  it 
approached  the  clerk. 

"Good  morning,  Mr. .    How  do  you  feel  to-day?" 

That  was  all  the  patent  medicine  fiend  needed  to  open 
up  his  tale  of  woe. 

"Oh,  tougher  than  the  dickens,  Charlie,"  he  began. 
"Have  you  got  anything  in  the  store  that  will  stop  an  awful 
aching  in  my  neck?  And  I've  felt  so  numb  all  day  to-day 
that  I  don't  believe  that  I  can  last  much  longer.  I  had  an 
awful  backache  yesterday,  but  that's  better  to-day.  Don't 
much  more'n  get  rid  of  one  thing  till  another  comes.  My 
teeth  have  been  tryin'  to  worry  me  some  lately,  too." 

The  drug  clerk  handed  him  a  small  vial  of  toothache 
drops  and  he  ambled  out. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  PHARMACY  267 

"That's  only  one  of  the  million  that  I  hear  every  day," 
said  the  clerk.  A  moment  later  he  got  into  an  argument 
with  a  woman  who  was  possessed  of  a  small  slip  of  paper 
that  she  handed  him. 

"No  you  can't  work  that  off  on  me.  A  doctor  never 
saw  that  prescription.  I  can't  do  anything  for  you.  You'll 
have  to  go  somewhere  else,"  the  clerk  said  to  her. 

She  muttered  something  and  walked  out. 

"The  same  old  gag,"  remarked  the  dispenser  of  drugs. 
She  had  a  fake  prescription  for  morphine  and  she  came  in 
to  have  the  order  of  her  favorite  drug  filled  "for  a  friend." 
She  had  forged  a  prescription  and  had  tried  to  "work  it  off" 
on  the  clerk,  but  had  been  there  before. 

But  the  drug  clerk  does  not  hear  all  woe.  He  has  to 
be  polite  to  the  woman  perfume  fiend.  There  are  women 
in  local  society  who  delight  in  visiting  drug  stores  for  the 
purpose  of  sampling  every  make  of  perfume  in  the  house. 
They  will  sniff  at  the  bottles,  try  a  little  on  their  handker- 
chiefs and  ask  the  price.    Then  they  go  to  the  next  store. 

The  drug  clerk  has  also  to  be  a  city  directory.  If  he 
doesn't  know  where  Thomas  Smith's  office  is  he  is  ignorant. 
If  he  cannot  say  where  Mrs.  Edgar  Williams  has  moved 
within  the  last  month  he  is  devoid  of  all  sense.  He  must 
know.  He  has  to  be  able  to  tell  whether  a  grocer  out  in  the 
west  end  has  a  telephone  or  not,  and  if  he  hasn't,  why 
hasn't  he? 

He  has  to  walk  quietly  behind  the  fountain  counter 
and  hand  out  a  little  vichy  water  and  ammonia  to  the  "boys" 
who  are  suffering  from  the  effects  of  a  "morning  following 
the  night  before."  In  this  he  poses  as  a  lifesaver,  and  the 
"boys"  proceed  to  the  office  with  only  thoughts  of  thank- 
fulness in  their  hearts  for  the  drug  clerk. 

The  drug  clerk — poor  dog ! — has  to  know  it  all,  hear  it 
all,  and  bear  it  all,    If  he  doesn't,  he  is  a  bad  drug  clerk. 


268  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

UNFORTUNATE  SUGGESTION 

Elderly  Maiden  (to  druggist's  boy)  :  Well,  I  do  de- 
clare, if  I  ain't  forgot  what  I  came  for ! 

Boy  (full  of  business):  Hair  dye?  rouge?  lotion  to 
remove  freckles  ?  wrinkle  eradicator  ?  bottle  Bloom  of  Youth  ? 

Elderly  Maiden  hails  a  passing  street-car. 


JUST  AS  GOOD 

"Have  you  really  no  affection  for  any  other  girl,  dear  ?" 
she  asked  of  her  fiance. 

"No!"  replied  the  drug  clerk  absent-mindedly,  "but  I 
have  something  just  as  good." 


BEECHMAN'S  PILLS 

A  certain  religious  congregation  in  England  wanted 
to  procure  new  hymn-books,  but  they  were  very  poor  and 
could  not  afford  to  pay  for  them  at  the  ordinary  prices. 
They  understood,  however,  that  a  certain  great  advertising 
house,  a  business  house  that  made  patent  medicines,  was 
willing  to  furnish  them  hymn-books  at  a  penny  each,  if  they 
would  allow  some  advertisements  to  be  inserted  in  the  books. 
They  thought  that  would  be  no  special  harm,  that  they  might 
have  a  few  pages  of  advertisements  bound  up  with  Watts 
and  Doddridge.  They  agreed  to  the  proposition.  The 
books  came  duly,  and  got  down  to  the  church  on  December 
24. 

On  Christmas  morning  the  model  Christians,  who  had 
no  thoughts  of  anything  but  religion,  got  up  to  sing.  Their 
pastor  gave  out  by  the  first  line  a  very  familiar  hymn.  Im- 
mediately the  congregation  arose  to  their  feet,  and  in  a  few 
seconds  they  were  aghast  to  find  themselves  singing: 

"Hark!  the  herald  angels  sing 
Beechman's  pills  are  just  the  thing. 
Peace  on  earth  and  mercy  mild ; 
Two  for  man  and  one  for  child." 


THE  STUDENT  OF  PHARMACY  269 

DRUG  STORE  COFFEE 

Customer  (at  soda  fountain)  :  Have  you  any  coffee 
flavor  ? 

Clerk  (briskly)  :    Yes,  sir! 

Customer:     Does  it  taste  like  coffee? 

Clerk  :  U'm — er — n-no ;  but  it  looks  like  coffee — per- 
fect picture  of  it,  sir. 


THE  CRITICAL  SPIRIT 

New  Drug  Clerk:     That  doctor  of  yours  ought  to 
make  out  better  prescriptions. 

Customer:    Why,  what's  the  matter? 

New  Drug  Clerk  :    I  had  to  guess  at  half  he  wrote. 


HER  DEBT  OF  GRATITUDE 

When  she  entered  the  pharmacy  the  proprietor  was  too 
busy  stacking  almanacs  to  hear  her  footsteps.  She  tapped 
on  the  brass  scales  and  he  came  out  smiling. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  he  asked,  with  a  courteous 
bow. 

"Ah,  monsieur,"  she  replied,  "you  can  do  nozing  now ; 
you  have  done  much  in  ze  past.    I  come  to  say  zanks." 

The  pharmacist  was  puzzled. 

"I  am  afraid  I  don't  recall  the  circumstances,"  he  said, 
shaking  his  head. 

"Ah,  monsieur's  memory  is  weak.  Two  years.  I  come 
one  night.  Ze  wind.  How  ze  wind  blew  zat  one  night  two 
years  ago !  Ah,  monsieur,  and  ze  sleet.  Horrible  ze 
thought !  I  come  and  ask  for  ze  poison.  I  ze  one  miserable 
singer.  My  voice  fail.  No  longer  ze  audience  call  for 
Marie.  Ze  audience  hiss  ze  song.  I  no  longer  want  life. 
I  come  for  ze  poison.  Monsieur  sell  ze  belladonna  without 
ze  prescription  or  ze  question." 


270  THE  SHRINE  OF  ^SCULAPIUS 

"Did  you  take  it?"  gasped  the  pharmacist. 

"Monsieur  will  listen.  I  stand  in  ze  dressing  room. 
I  would  take  ze  poison  in  ze  moment.  While  I  wait  I  have 
an  idea.  I  put  ze  belladonna  in  my  eyes.  Zey  shine  like 
stars  of  ze  north.  Glorious !  I  run  out  on  ze  stage.  In  ze 
box  sit  ze  rich  old  man.  He  fall  madly  in  love  with  my 
bright  eyes.  He  beg  me  to  marry  him.  He  worth  millions. 
I  am  his  wife  to-day.  Suppose  monsieur  had  refused  ze 
poison  on  zat  wild  night  two  years  ago?" 

"It  would  have  been  bad  for  you." 

"Horrible !  And  now  I  will  buy  somezing  of  monsieur. 
Give  me  two  stamps  and  one  postal,  please !" 

The  pharmacist  sighed  and  opened  the  stamp  drawer. 
When  his  visitor  was  at  the  door  smiling  a  farewell  he  beck- 
oned her  to  return.    " Waz  ze  change  right  ?"  she  queried. 

"Yes,  but  you  forgot  to  take  an  almanac." 

He  forced  a  collection  of  variegated  pamphlets  in  her 
hands. 

"Here  is  a  good  selection.  Calendars,  receipts,  jokes, 
and  the  picture  of  great  men  who  take  preparations." 


DISAPPOINTMENT 

"Well,  I'll  acknowledge  I'm  disappointed,"  said  Rivers 
sourly.  "I  asked  at  least  fifty  people  to-day  what  I  ought 
to  take  for  my  cold,  and  not  one  of  them  recommended 
quinine  and  whisky." 

"What  did  they  recommend?"  asked  Brooks. 

"Quinine." 


HAIR  RESTORER 


A  man  from  the  country,  who  visited  the  city,  called  on 
a  prominent  druggist  whose  infallible  hair  preserver  he  had 
used  without  any  perceptible  effect.  "Look  here,  sir,"  he 
said,  "I  have  used  two  bottles  of  your  stuff,  and  all  the  hair 
is  coming  right  off  my  head.  I'll  drink  another  bottle;  if 
that  don't  fix  it,  I  shall  have  to  try  something  else." 


THE  STUDENT  OF  PHARMACY  271 

AN  IMPORTANT  DISCOVERY 

Uncle  Abner  :  I  see  in  the  papers  that  a  new  kind  of 
patent  medicine  has  jest  been  put  on  the  market  that  will 
cure  everything. 

Aunt  Rachel:  Well!  And  both  of  Jed  Larkin's 
boys  is  goin'  to  a  medical  college.  It  seems  that  when  lots 
of  folks  go  to  fittin'  theirselves  for  a  profession,  something 
happens  to  make  that  profession  unprofitable. 


"FOR  A  HORS." 


A  Western  veterinarian  sent  the  following  to  be  filled 

Send  this  by  this  boy 
Tinker  of  Asfetty   1   ounc 
—  Camphor  1  ounc 
Cappicom  1  ounc 
Lodman  1  ounc 
Mix 


Anknite  10c. 

Cloraform  1  ounc 

do  not  think  this  is  spelt  wright 
but  you  will  know  what  it  is 
it  is  for  a  hors.    dock — M.  D. 


TRADE  NAMES 


"A  man  came  in  here  one  day,"  said  the  apothecary, 
"and  asked  for  a  'raw-shell'  powder.  He  meant  a  Rochelle 
powder.  On  another  occasion  a  customer  demanded  a  'side- 
light' powder.  He  got  it.  A  lady  came  in  once,  and,  hold- 
ing up  a  pint  bottle,  said:  'What  will  you  charge  to  fill 
this  with  pneumonia?'" 


272  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

A  CONFUSION  OF  TERMS 

Horace  T.  Eastman,  the  inventor  of  the  locomotive 
pilot,  said  the  other  day: 

"This  morning  I  was  sitting  in  a  drug  store  waiting 
to  get  a  prescription  filled  when  a  young  Irishman  entered. 

"The  Irishman  pointed  to  a  stack  of  green  Castile  soap 
and  said: 

"  'Oi  want  a  loomp  o'  that.' 

"  'Very  well,  sir,'  said  the  clerk.  'Will  you  have  it 
scented  or  unscented?' 

"  'Oi'll  take  ut  with  me,'  said  the  Irishman." 


COLLODION 


"They  have  a  bright  clerk  down  here  at  the  drug  store." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?" 

"I  went  in  and  asked  him  for  ten  cents'  worth  of  col- 
lodion to  paint  shingles  with.  'Madam,'  he  said,  'we  don't 
keep  house  paints  here.' " 


RULING  HABIT 


"Is  the  boss  in  ?"  asked  the  stranger,  entering  the  drug 
store. 

"No,"  replied  the  absent-minded  clerk;  "but  we  have 
something  just  as  good." 


EVIDENCE  OF  SAGACITY 

"Would  you  rather  be  wise  or  beautiful?"  asked  Fate 
of  the  coy  Young  Maiden. 

"Beautiful,"  replied  the  damsel. 

"Ah,  you  are  wise  already,"  commented  Fate,  as  she 
tied  up  a  package  of  cosmetics. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  PHARMACY  273 

FOR  HIMSELF 

The  other  day  a  man  entered  a  drug  store  at  the  cor- 
ner of  Halsted  and  Sixty-first  Streets,  Chicago,  and  said  to 
the  druggist,  in  a  low  voice : 

"Have  you  anything  that  will  cure  the  itch  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"Give  me  a  dime's  worth,"  said  the  customer.  "I  don't 
want  it  for  a  friend.    I  want  it  for  myself." 


NOT  TO  BLAME 


"Babbert  is  an  awful  poor  judge  of  whisky,  isn't  he?" 
"Yes,  he  inherits  it.     He  comes  from  a  long  line  of 
druggists." 


A  DRUG  CLERK'S  TROUBLES 

"I  want  five  cents'  worth  of  glory  divine,"  said  a  flaxen- 
haired  tot  looking  intently  at  the  clerk  in  a  South  Boston 
drug  store  last  evening.  Everybody  within  hearing  of  the 
infantile  voice  either  laughed  or  smiled,  while  Mr.  Grey, 
the  drug  man,  looked  serious  and  appeared  to  be  thinking. 
"Are  you  sure  it  is  glory  divine  you  want?"  he  asked  the 
little  one. 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  prompt  response. 

"For  what  does  mama  want  it?"  was  the  next  ques- 
tion. 

"To  throw  it  around  the  room  and  in  the  back  yard," 
said  the  little  tot,  innocently. 

"Isn't  it  chloride  of  lime  she  wants?"  asked  the  drug 
man. 

The  little  girl  nodded  her  assent,  and  soon  was  on  her 
way  home  to  mother.  rTt's  only  one  of  the  many  enigmas 
which  face  the  drug  clerks  every  day  of  their  life,"  said 
the  apothecary.  "The  little  girls  do  not  make  mistakes  very 
often,  but  the  little  boys  and  some  of  the  heads  of  the  fam- 
ilies are  always  guessing  at  what  they  mean.  But  'glory 
divine'  is  a  new  one  on  me." 


274  THE  SHRINE  OF  iESCULAPIUS 

A  FEW  SURE  CURES 

"I  see  Doc  Basswick  has  got  out  a  sure  cure  for  bald 
heads,"  remarked  the  country  storekeeper,  as  he  cleaned 
the  mouth  of  a  molasses  jug  with  his  forefinger  and  pushed 
a  corn  cob  stopper  in  place.  "He  allows  that  it  will  do  the 
business  every  time.  I  reckon  it  ought  to.  If  smells  bad 
enough.  I  know  there's  kerosene  in  it  an'  ammonia.  He's 
puttin'  up  ten  gallons  of  it  fer  a  start  an'  he  allows  he'll  get 
a  dollar  fer  a  pint  bottle.  That'll  be  eighty  dollars  fer  the 
ten  gallons,  an'  I'll  bet  eight  gallons  of  it  is  common,  ord'- 
nary  rainwater.     It  takes  a  druggist  ter  make  money." 

"What's  it  goin'  ter  cure  bald  heads  of?"  asked  the 
customer,  jocosely. 

"Bunions,"  answered  the  storekeeper,  smartly. 

"Rufe  got  it  on  you  that  time,  Hank,"  said  Wash  Han- 
cock, grinning.  "It's  jest  as  easy  to  make  money  out  o' 
sand  as  it  is  out  o'  rainwater,  though.  You  ought  ter  take 
the  time  ter  sift  your  sand,  Rufe;  I  like  ter  broke  a  tooth 
on  a  bowlder  in  the  last  sugar  I  got  of  you.  So  Doc's  git- 
tin'  out  a  hair  restorer?  That  puts  me  in  mind  o'  Pliny 
Tipton  an'  the  time  he  had  raisin'  hair.  I  remember  when 
he'd  have  given  eighty  dollars  a  spoonful  for  anything  that 
would  have  put  hair  on  his  head.  He's  sorter  indifferent 
now. 

"It  worried  him  right  smart  about  the  time  he  met  up 
with  Myrtle  Beasley,"  said  Hancock,  "an'  it  kep'  on  worryin' 
him  all  that  spring  an'  all  summer.  Myrtle  had  come  over 
from  Fairfax  to  visit  with  Mert  Tillotson's  folks  an'  Pliny 
took  a  shine  to  her  as  soon  as  he  seen  her.  She  was  a 
good-lookin'  gal,  but  not  much  of  a  cutup.  I  reckon  she 
had  more  sense  than  most  o'  them,  but  she  had  the  gin'ral 
prejudice  wimmen  folks  has  in  favor  of  hair.  Pliny  never 
had  much  an'  what  he  had  alius  looked  like  it  needed  a 
fertilizer,  but  when  he  got  to  be  about  twenty-three  it  seemed 
like  he  jest  nachally  moulted  an'  when  Myrtle  came  to 
Tarkio  he  hadn't  much  more  hair  than  one  o'  them  strictly- 
fresh  eggs  there  has. 

"Well,  he  run  Myrtle  pretty  hard  an'  she  seemed  ter 


THE  STUDENT  OF  PHARMACY  275 

like  him  tol'able  well  until  the  other  girls  got  to  jokin'  her 
about  him  an'  then  she  shied  off  some.  One  day  they'd 
been  plagu'in'  her  an'  she  said  she  guessed  if  she  took  up 
with  anybody  it  would  be  somebody  that  wouldn't  need  fly 
screenin'  for  the  top  of  his  head.  O'  course  that  got  around 
to  Pliny  an'  although  he  didn't  let  on  I  guess  it  worried 
him.    He  didn't  go  around  to  see  her  any  more. 

"Well,  soon  after  that  old  man  Tipton  found  a  bottle 
of  truck  in  Pliny's  room  that  it  said  on  the  label  would 
sprout  hair  on  a  doorknob  if  the  directions  wus  followed. 
I  guess  Pliny  must  have  used  a  dozen  of  them  bottles  before 
he  gave  up.  Then  he  tried  another  brand.  That  turned  the 
top  of  his  head  brown,  but  it  didn't  sprout  no  hair.  After 
that  ol'  Mis'  Gladwin  told  him  that  a  cousin  of  hers  used 
strong  sage  tea  an'  he  had  got  a  crop  as  thick  as  a  doormat 
inside  o'  six  months.  So  Pliny  got  his  mother  to  fix  him  up 
a  mess  of  sage  tea  an'  he  rubbed  it  in  accordin'  ter  direc- 
tions. He  got  the  brown  stain  out  that  the  other  truck  had 
left,  but  he  didn't  get  no  hair. 

"It  was  just  about  the  end  o'  that  when  Shad  Baxter 
come  back  from  out  West  an'  he  told  Pliny  that  when  a 
Mexican's  hair  got  anyways  thin  on  top  the  feller  took  an' 
cut  an  onion  in  half  an'  rubbed  that  in'  an'  the  hair  'ud 
jest  nachally  push  through  like  timothy  after  a  wet  spell. 
He  said  they'd  sometimes  take  them  hairless  dogs  of  theirs 
an'  rub  'em  with  half  an  onion  an'  be  able  to  sell  'em  for 
Skye  terriers  inside  of  a  week.  Well,  Pliny  took  the  onion 
remedy  on  top  o'  the  sage  an'  went  about  for  awhile  smellin' 
like  turkey  dressing.    But  even  that  didn't  do  no  good. 

"Fin'ly  Uncle  Jake  Sowerby  got  to  talkin'  to  Pliny  one 
day  an'  says  he:  'The  reason  you  don't  have  better  luck 
with  that  there  top  growth  is  you  don't  let  the  sun  get  to  it. 
It  stands  ter  reason  nothin'  won't  start  ter  growin'  'thout 
sunshine.     Quit  wearin'  your  hat  an'  you'll  be  all  right.' 

"Pliny  wusn't  nobody's  fool  as  a  gen'ral  thing,  but  he 
took  out  his  knife  an'  cut  the  crown  out  of  his  hat.  There,' 
he  says,  as  he  put  on  the  brim,  'I'll  give  it  a  trial.' 

"It  was  right  in  the  middle  o'  plantin'  time  then,  but 


276  THE  SHRINE  OF  AESCULAPIUS 

Pliny  didn't  wear  a  blame  thing  on  his  head  but  that  ol'  hat 
brim  for  three  days.  The  second  day  his  head  was  blistered 
mighty  bad. 

"The  third  day,  though,  he  met  Myrtle  Beasley.  She 
wus  goin'  along  the  road  an'  called  to  him  in  the  field.  I 
happened  to  be  restin'  in  a  shady  corner  of  the  fence ;  that's 
how  I  know.  When  he  came  up  she  says:  'Why,  Pliny 
Tipton !' 

"  'Yes,'  said  Pliny,  colorin'  up ;  I'm  wearin'  this  to  grow 
hair.  I've  tried  'most  everythin'  else  an'  if  it  don't  work 
I'll  have  ter  take  to  fly  screens.' 

"She  colored  up  then.  'I'm  sorry  I  said  that,'  she  says. 
'I  didn't  mean  it.  I  mean  I  don't  think  no  less  o'  you  be- 
cause— Pliny,  you're  all  blistered;  did  you  do  that  because 
I  said—' 

"  'I  reckon  not,'  says  Pliny !  'I'm  doin'  it  for  fun ;  I 
never  thought  o'  you.' 

"  'You  did,  too/  she  says,  'an'  you  needn't  do  it  any 
more.  I  don't  care  whether  you  ever  have  a  spear  o'  hair 
on  your  head.  I  think  a  heap  more  o'  what's  inside  it. 
Pliny,  I  want  you  to  forgive  me.' " 


"What  then  ?"  asked  the  storekeeper  as  Hancock  paused. 
"I  allow  I'm  not  goin'  ter  tell  all  I  know,"  replied  Han- 
cock. 


DRUGGIST'S  QUEER  ORDERS 

An  east  side  druggist  is  making  a  collection  of  the 
queer  orders  he  receives  from  people  who  send  children  to 
the  store  for  things  they  need.  Here  are  a  few  samples  of 
them: 

"This  child  is  my  little  girl.  I  send  you  five  cents  to 
buy  two  sitless  powders  for  a  grown  adult  who  is  sike." 

An  anxious  mother  writes : 

"You  will  pleas  give  the  leetle  boi  5  cents  worth  of 


THE  STUDENT  OF  PHARMACY  277 

epicac  for  to  throw  up  a  five  months  old  babe.  N.  B. — The 
babe  has  a  sore  stummick." 

This  one  puzzled  the  druggist : 

"I  have  a  cute  pane  in  my  child's  diagram.  Please  give 
my  son  something  to  release  it." 

Another  anxious  mother  wrote: 

"My  little  baby  has  eat  up  its  father's  parish  plasther. 
Send  an  antedote  quick  as  possible  by  the  enclosed  little 
girl." 


THE  DRUGGIST'S  REVENGE 

'That  man  wanted  lemonade  and  insisted  that  I  squeeze 
the  lemons  in  his  presence." 
"Did  you  do  it?" 
"Yes,  and  I  squeezed  some  into  his  eye." 


REPARTEE 


Observing  the  manager  of  the  drug  department,  the 
woman  accosted  him,  in  a  spirit  of  badinage. 

"I  have  kleptomania,"  she  said.  "What  would  you 
advise  me  to  take?" 

"The  elevator,  by  all  means !"  said  the  manager  wittily. 

"And  not  something  just  as  good?"  exclaimed  the 
woman,  affecting  great  surprise. 


M 


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